Perception
by real-placebo-effect
Summary: HBP/DH noncomp She is, quite possibly, the worst candidate to ever be chosen to prevent the rise of Lord Voldemort. But, Blessed by Fate, this is the task she's been set and she tolerates nothing but success. By any means necessary. "Trust me, Tom..."
1. Prologue: Remember, You Will Die

_**p**__erception_

**r**eal-placebo-effect

_**.**_

_**p**__rologue: __**r**__emember __**y**__ou __**w**__ill __**d**__ie_

_._

memento mori

.

"Poor, _poor_ Severus." Voldemort says, tightening his grip around his neck, lifting him off the ground. God, he's gonna kill him. And it's all my fault, all my fault, all my- "Did you think you could run away? Cower behind the mighty Dumbledore? _Look_ where he is now, Severus—"

His dark grey eyes follow the Dark Lord's and there _he_ lies, defeated; Albus Dumbledore. "—At my feet, where he rightly belongs."

Severus looks defeated too, just for a moment – Albus is dead, dead, gone, decrepit USELESS! – but then he looks defiantly into that son of a bitch's face and spits into it. "Fuck you, _my Lord_."

With pure, unadulterated magic, the snake throws him back, and he's on the floor and sputtering for breath because, oh God, dear Lord, please, _mercy_, there's a piece of that marble sticking out through his lung. And now, he's looking at me and I know that look – _run, you stupid child, run for your life!_ – but I can't move, can't fucking _move_ and Voldemort, Tom, Riddle –whatever the _fuck_ you want to call him because he's not _human_, he can't be– is pulling out Albus' wand and – the bloody _Elder wand_ – is turning to Severus, oh God, no, please not him too, take me, his non-existent lips stretching over that mouth, and says happily, like a child on Christmas –

"_AVADA KEDAVRA!_"

The same time, "_NO!_"

I'm such an idiot, _why_? I should've run, run for my damned_ life_. I nearly piss myself though as that—that—_thing_ turns his head towards me and his eyes _light up_.

I don't know why – I'm going to die anyway, I'm going to _die_ – but I just turn and run, tripping over my own dress, and I just keep on running and running and running for my life, doomed the moment I opened my fucking lips. I can feel him behind me, and hear him behind me, and his Death Eaters are behind me, and I'm going to_ die_—

I pull out my wand and aim blindly, "_AVADA KEDAVRA!_", and I'm glad to hear someone fall, and I hope it's Bellatrix, the bitch, but _Voldemort_ is still laughing, laughing at _me_, and I keep on running, because they're dead, dead, dead, and he's left me to die, die, die, die –

"_DIE ALREADY!_" I yell and at the same time willing the Avada out of my wand nonverbally, and it hits someone again but I don't know who, and _oh, _it's not that snake, 'cause he's still – _always_ – laughing at me. I finally reach the room and slam the door shut and I grab it – the first and last Timeturner in the history of Timeturners – and wish I could just go back, just a few hours and warn everyone, warn _everyone_ and no one would be dead, and Harry wouldn't have had a grain of heated sand burn slowly through his stomach and Lucy – _little Lucy!_ – wouldn't have had to see her own intestines.

But I think too long – I always take too long, too long to run and hide and _live _– and they burst through the door easily, and oh God, mercy, please, because I'm going to die and I don't want to, _God_, I don't want to die.

"You're going to die." Voldemort says matter-of-factly – as if I don't fucking _know _that –

and he's waiting for me to say something so I blurt out the first thing that comes to my mind.

"I don't pity you."

"Good, because I do not need to be pitied." He sneers back and I think twice about what I'm going to say, but hey, I'm going to die, right? I'm gonna go out with a bang, with pretty words and something profound and cruel and badass and—

"—I _know_, Tom. I understand and I forgive you." He seems confused at first – and it's terrifying, more terrifying than his snarls and screams and glee – but no one is more confused than me – what the fuck have I done this time_ – _and now, oh _shit_, I bet he's pissed 'cause I called him Tom, and no one did that but Albus, no one but me and Harry and Albus and now we're all dead and dying and—

—And he's waving his wand up really high now, and I _could_ and _should_ just Apparate out, but I can't even gather my thoughts because he's really _going to kill me_.

"_AVADA KEDAVRA!_"

The world goes black.

.

I can feel coolness under my palms and cheek and thighs, cool and hard and unforgiving but so cool and soothing I want to lay here forever. Unbidden, my eyes flutter open and I instantly close them when the bright light filters through, hissing at the pain of my pupils contracting too fast. I try again though –_don't give up, never give in, don't tell them anything, baby _– and memories fly past.

The wedding—_to have to hold to love forever mine_ – the walls, breaking and caving—Voldemort— Death Eaters—_Lucius_—Mira—death and blood and screams and fire—Lucy—chasing, chasing, running—and my Timeturner!

I sit up, trying to figure out where I am. Nausea hits me suddenly, the lights and colours blurring in front of me, nothing and everything is visible. I realise I'm completely naked, almost as an afterthought and find a pile of soft, warm clothes – jeans a shirt, it seems – right by my fingertips, fresh and clean. I pull them on, relishing the feel of it.

I'm at King's Cross Station, and there is a small whimpering noise that makes the back of my neck tingle.

I stumble along the rows of seats, almost buckling because I can't even feel my legs, I've forgotten how to walk and talk and breathe and care but I'm looking for—for—_someone_. I'm at the second row and the whimpering gets a bit louder, but there's nothing along the neverending seats.

I'm terrified, my heart hammering in my chest and instinctively kneel down and I'm met with the saddest scene I have ever seen and my stomach turns over.

The most beautiful baby, five maybe six months old, wrapped in violet blankets and as soon as I looked at it, it cried out loudly, arms reaching out, legs kicking, tears flowing down out of its stormy eyes. Its skin was puffy and red, as if the baby had been boiled or rubbed raw or both, and the scratchy, desperate heartbreaking noise that came from its small throat was so pitiful that tears prickled at my eyes.

But for some reason, I couldn't pick it up.

I just stare into its beautiful, large eyes – a turbulent shade of grey – and left it to kick and scream and try to clutch at me. I snap out of it though—he's just a child, just a child –and who would leave a child anyway?

Speaking of which, where was everyone? The station was usually overflowing with people especially at this ho—

The clock did not tell time, even I knew that. It spoke of temptation and blood and war and grinned at me with sharp teeth and a soft tongue and –

Not even the wind blew.

Kneeling back down, I want to pick up the poor baby, and it's crying so wretchedly now, I just want to leave, want us to leave—"I wouldn't do that, if I were you, my dear."

I turn, happy to hear a familiar voice, hands returning to my side. "Why not?"

"He is beyond help." Says Albus Dumbledore, and I feel a surge of annoyance. Old man's always telling me what to do.

"He's only a baby! I just want to hold him..." I say wistfully, trying to convince the man who was shaking his head at me.

"He is beyond help." He repeats, and before I can protest, or even think of protesting, he continues. "Touching him would condemn you too."

"_Condemn?_ You've _condemned _a poor child? Who the hell do you think you are? " And Albus looks shocked at this—he's not usually defied, I remember now. "You gave me a chance, you gave Severus a chance, you even gave _Lord Voldemort_ plenty of chances, and yet, here you are _condemning _a _baby_! You _hypocrite_."

"You wouldn't say that, if you knew the truth." Albus says almost beseechingly, and my temper's turned on to full – he's just a _baby_, for God's sake.

"The truth? Why don't you _tell_ me the truth? How _dare_ you? It was you _telling the truth_ that killed Sirius, that killed me, that killed _everyone!_"

"Well, I wouldn't exactly say that you're dead..." A voice said amusedly.

"And you are?" I snap, turning to meet the voice full on and my heart stops and I die a little more – die again –

"Fate, love." He says, smiling widely and he looks just like _him_ and – "Where are you right now?"

"King's Cross Station?" I ask, tentatively.

"That's right!" Fate says, condescendingly, and Albus grins; of course he does. "You have two choices."

God, he even sounds just like _him_ and I blink, trying to take it all in, the way there seem to be no lights but so much light, everything sharper and clearer and empty and full. He continues though and doesn't even notice my distress. "The Timeturner you carried changed you, love. For better or for worse, I can't tell you yet. The curse Tom sent missed you and hit the blasted thing instead."

I gape. Of all the things to have happened.

"It's supposed to be curse-proof, but it _is_ a prototype. Usually, we just—send people—"

"We?"

"_We_," Fate stressed, "can't send you to where you should be sent yet. Usually, you board a train and go to where you belong. But _you_, love, there's a problem with your..._passport_, let's say. So, you have two choices."

"Choices?"

"You can choose to—board your train." He says, and steps closer to me, fingers running along the side of my cheek and I love him, I always will. "Or, you can change _everything_. You'd be free from all constraints, especially me."

Fate is smirking and his hands are running across my collarbone so gently it hurts because he still has _that_ face.

"But there is a small glitch of sorts." Albus put in, blue eyes twinkling, as they always did.

"Glitch?" I sound like a tape-recorder, playing back everything said.

"You can never go back, love. You will never meet anyone the same again, never go through the same experiences, never, ever again." Fate says, sounding mockingly sad, just as _he _would have.

"_You will lose everything._"

To go on as a ghost, as a mere spirit—"No, that's not right."

"What?"

"You and all who are free from me will remember life as it was. But that is all. You will not be born again; you will not move on. You will _go on._ There's a difference. What is your choice?"

My head spins, because it's all moving _so _fast. One minute, I'm getting married, the next, I'm dying, and now...this? What even was this? A second chance? Redemption? Condemnation?

"I don't know." And I honestly don't. If I go on, I will be someone different, someone new, and no one will know me, but if I _go on_—to see them real and happy and alive—"To restart...to forget it all...I would love to, bu-"

"Excellent!" Fate says happily and Albus is chuckling. "Me and Destiny will be on your side always. We've been waiting for an opportunity like this for _years_, that poor, poor child!"

"What's happening?" I ask, because I don't want to die.

"Pick up the baby." Fate instructs me calmly and I move unwillingly, my feet resisting my wishes, and look at the baby, who is still crying, has been begging for me for as long I can remember.

And so I do pick him up, and he nuzzles into me, gripping my shirt tightly between his small fist as he lays his head on my shoulder and I rub his small infant back soothingly, the child's hiccups slowly disappearing as he breathes deeply.

He doesn't smell like children, like the newborn and precious; he smells of musk and wood and secrets and fire. He smells _familiar. _A Look is exchanged between Albus and Fate and the world starts to disappear.

"Remember, love, that not all wars are fought with wands." Fate says, pressing _his_ lips to my own, a last goodbye, a last present, a last memory, and I can feel _him_ in that one second, alive and loving and warm and real and there and loving me and I cry.

Then the darkness convinces me that it wasn't _you_.


	2. Chapter 1: Gray Mocker

_**p**__erception_

**r**eal-placebo-effect

_**.**_

_**g**__ray __**m**__ocker_

_._

_under the harvest moon_

_when the soft silver_

_drips shimmering_

_over the garden nights,_

_death, the gray mocker,_

_comes and whispers to you_

**under the harvest moon; **carlsandburg

.

It was almost cliché, how she arrived entirely free of cliché. There were no big lights to announce her arrival, no dark night or storm. She didn't pass out or scream or arrive with friends. Her clothes were not torn up and bloody. She didn't look poor, nor did she look extravagant and rich. She didn't have an Obliviate-gone-wrong. Her makeup wasn't running and she wasn't crying.

In fact, she arrived with a small "pop", usually associated with Apparition, in the morning, at exactly 10:51, on the seventh of July, 1941, looking a bit dazed. The few students outside had gaped at her as she blinked around, and then studied her right hand critically. There was a raised eyebrow, then an exasperated glare at her clothing, which she had just seemed to notice.

The white dress she wore wasn't pristine and crisp but it was only slightly rumpled, a single clear spot of red near the neckline. A wedding dress. She looked at the giant castle looming up in front of her, just noticing the piece of architecture there and calmly walked towards it. She got as far as the big iron gates before stopping to hiss at the gates. Her lips parted in a silent 'o' before her eyes rolled to the back of her head, her eyelids drooping and hitting her head in the iron gate, in quite an ungraceful fashion.

But she arrived.

.

_friday, july 13, 1941_

_11:01 PM_

.

Tom's hands twitched against the doorframe, as a small smile graced his lips, swallowed up by the night around him. Life at Hogwarts was monotonous, the repetitive chants of _mudblood_ and _filth_ and _what a charming boy such a shame, such a shame_ so predictable that his practised smiles looked almost natural in response. The supposed purebloods were a disappointment – crass, vulgar and lacking entirely in grace and subtlety. If _anyone_ deserved to be pureblood, to wear that successive badge of honour and nobility, it should be Tom.

He slunk out of the doorway, travelling the corridors as the dark swallowed up the small sounds his feet made, his soft breathing.

Of course, if the self-proclaimed Lord Voldemort had known what was going to happen that fateful night, he might've just _murdered_ his younger self for it. If Tom had _known_ that Friday-the-thirteenth was _not_ some stupid Muggle superstition, he might've been more careful that night.

Because that night would be his downfall.

_._

_filthy little mudblood unworthy of being Slytherin things will be hard but I feel it's for the best that I'm very sorry Thomas where's your precious daddy now eh riddle slytherin-_

Tom shook his head to clear those thoughts. It wouldn't help him to do anything, if he kept those words in his heart. Instead, he'd have to keep them in his mind – keep them to motivate him to prove them all wrong. Because they were wrong. All of them; he was far, far greater than any student in this school and he had earned his place.

A lifetime of doubt and fighting for survival had surely earned him his place at Hogwarts, in the magical community, regardless of his blood.

There were times when Tom doubted. The Sorting Hat had put him in Slytherin, after all, knowing exactly what the House coveted the most – and that he lacked it. Tom himself had wanted to be Sorted into Ravenclaw – had begged for it – and everyone agreed. Except the Hat, clearly.

He cast an eye at Malfoy's closed door, eyes rolling as he continued walking out of the common room. Tom could safely say he detested the purebloods, even as they claimed superiority over him, claimed to be more magical, claimed to be purer. Instead, he could only see a crumbling gerontocracy, the corrupt elite corrupting the young even farther. The Blacks were a prime example, with all kinds of insanity running through their veins. Orion and Walburga with their uncontrollable lust, Alphard with his mania disguised as genius, Cygnus with his arrogance and pride and, of course, the ever phobic Charms Professor, Regulus Black. They were all obnoxious, illogical, proud and arrogant and they could deny that as much as they want, but it was clear.

Of course, that wasn't to say that the inbred pureblood insanity had not just manifested in the Blacks; the Malfoys were just as horrific. Abraxas Malfoy claimed that he could trace his family back three centuries and claim that each and every one had been in Slytherin – but Tom suspected a Hufflepuff or Gryffindor somewhere in the line; it was the only explanation for the boy's rash actions and utter idiocy.

He had perfect grades, and the brightest future, the teachers around his pinkie and a _personality_. Sure, he wasn't _rich_ nor was his family name well-known, but Tom was mostly happy with what he had gained, because it was all through his own honest effort, though Professor Dumbledore would very much object.

Tom's footsteps paused as his eyes took in the corridor around him, dark and unfamiliar at this time of day. He had let his thoughts consume too much and with an annoyed tick in his jaw, pulled out his wand, muttering, "_Lumos_."

The tip didn't illuminate very far; Tom was forced to go on. He followed the corridor he was on, and considered asking the portraits for directions, only to find every single one empty.

Then, the corridor split into two paths.

Tom could go left or go right. After a seconds hesitation, he chose the right path, ignoring the sinking sensation. He brushed it off at the worry of being lost, of not making it back to his dormitory before dawn. The dimly lit corridors gave him a feeling of apprehension as the shadows flickered onto the wall, creating shapes, creating a story, creating life.

His shoulders relaxed as Tom reached a familiar area; the Hospital Wing. He was prepared to walk straight past it, get to the dungeons and maybe catch some sleep, but that was not to happen tonight.

A second right after he had walked past the Wing, he heard wind chimes.

Being the curious being that he was, he stopped, craning his neck back to find out just _when_ Madame Luxor had put up _wind chimes_ and _why_. She hated noise in her space, where people were usually trying to rest after violent Quidditch matches or as a result of House conflict.

What he discovered was that the Wing was completely empty, wind blowing in harshly through the completely open windows, the translucent white curtains reaching out to each other across the Wing, almost like lovers hands trying to grasp each other, he would later muse.

Had Tom had been a normal or average, he would've recognised what the hairs standing on the back of his neck meant, wouldn't have blamed the goose bumps on his forearms on the wind, which was a summer one and not very cold, not walk through the Wing to the bed at the back and fled like a demon.

But of course, Tom had _never_ been normal, so he didn't even notice the hairs standing on the back of his neck, blamed the goose bumps on his forearms on the wind, and instead of fleeing, walked straight to the bed at the back of the Wing.

The wind hit his face gently as did the curtains, almost caressing him, and tousled his hair ever so slightly, but it was enough to make him push the curtains away from him roughly and glare at them, and not enough to deter him from walking to the end bed. When he reached the end bed and pulled aside the cotton curtain that had been shut tightly, fully expecting to meet Madame Luxor. But what he saw there was enough to make the breath catch in his throat.

There was a girl.

Her eyelids fluttered, the purple veins showing through the skin and underneath her eyes. Her chapped, cracked lips stretched across her teeth in silent screams, mouthing silent words and bitten hard enough to bleed. The cheap cotton blankets gathered by her hips and the tops of her thighs as she dug her heels into the bed with enough force to make it creak, her back arched almost painfully, suspended in the air as though struck by lightning.

Her hands gripped the bed sheets until her knuckles turned white and contorted as if enduring some great pain, the angles so impossible it was a wonder her hands hadn't broken – though, they might be, for all Tom knew.

Her hair was splayed across her face and the pillow, as her head tosses back and forth, her pale, clammy skin contrasting greatly with varicose veins. Sweat gathered at her forehead, upper lip, neck, chest and back, damp patches clearly visible on the blue Hospital dress she wore. The droplets dripped from the backs of her thighs and the back of her knees, soaking her clothing and the sheets as she convulsed.

If it were not for the sheer horror Tom felt, it might've been erotic.

Sickened, Tom turned and half-ran out of the Hospital Wing as fast as he could, unable to get the gruesome picture out of his head, the back of his hand to his mouth and did not look back once.

What Tom didn't know was that if he had gone left, he would've landed right in front of one of the many entrances to the Chamber of Secrets.

_._

_tuesday, july 24__th__, 1941_

_3:14 PM_

.

Walking out of History of Magic would never lose it's charm, but today, Tom felt particularly relieved. It had been the last lesson of the day, and the last lesson of the year, and Binns had a way of making the Goblin Wars even duller. It was the most draining class for Tom, simply because it took so much effort to stay _awake._

_That might be more to do with last night, _Tom mused. He had, after all, dropped his guard momentarily during Charms – and had paid the price. His fourth year had been particularly taxing because of Professor Black who had never once relented with his blood purity propaganda. All the Blacks made it a point to indicate his blood status to anyone at anytime and that resulted in even more taunting.

When Tom had woken up this morning, he wasn't sure if the girl he saw yesterday was real, or just a figment of his imagination. All day he had analysed, cross-referenced and dissected his memories, trying to verify the existence of the Hell-Girl.

There were plenty of reasons why she couldn't be real; he had been tired, he had been annoyed and he couldn't remember returning to his room after _seeing_ her, but there were also plenty of reasons why she could be real; he had seen her, Luxor wasn't in the Wing yesterday for sure (she was at a staff meeting) and she could – should really – be in there today as well, given her current condition.

A first year girl ran up to him, blushing a cherry red, passing him a note. Tom rolled his eyes, quite ready to throw it away until he recognised the scratchy writing; Dumbledore.

_Meet at Dippet's Office. 3:30. Don't be late._

_P. Dumbledore_

Tom stiffened and looked at the large clock in the Great Hall – it was only three fifteen; he still had time.

What _could_ the meeting possibly be about? An honour? A notification – perhaps they'd found his father? Or maybe he was getting kicked out of Hogwarts?

His blood ran cold at the thought.

Tom had grown up in Hogwarts – nobody would ever know the secret alleyways and passages like he did (at least, not until around thirty years into the future, by a group of young boys known at the Marauders). If he had a choice, he would _never_ leave, especially during the summer holidays. Who would trade a warm bed, warm food and education for a cold, lumpy mattress, cold, lumpy soup and nothing to read but the rude inscriptions on the walls of the toilet cubicles?

_Certainly_ not him. He had hopes – dreams – and they _would_ be fulfilled.

And he would make sure no one could take that away from him, now _or_ in the future. Ever. To Tom, it seemed like he'd only blinked once before he'd arrived in front of the Headmaster's office. Although his password – _Minister For Magic_ as it was – suggested that Dippet was a man of power, there was someone else behind the scenes. Someone who played the game so well, so perfectly that even Dippet himself had no idea that he was being manipulated. It took Tom a few years but he had spotted it eventually; Dumbledore ran the show.

It all came down to the Transfiguration Professor in the end.

Dumbledore had managed to get his way with nearly everything – everything except perhaps the expulsion of Tom from the school. Although, there was a possibility now that he had succeeded. Tom was puzzled as to _how_, though. He had done nothing wrong – he was one of the highest achievers in the year and in the running for Prefect.

"Come in, Tom." Dippet said, completely downcast and at odds with his usual personality. Tom smiled an almost smile and walked in a bit more. He was surprised to see that Dumbledore was nowhere to be found – Dumbledore simply _had _to be everywhere, to make sure Dippet didn't do anything that went against his master plan. Tom _almost _felt sorry for Dippet. "Well, hurry in, boy."

_Almost_. "We have to get along to the Hospital Wing. Professor Dumbledore seems to have a bit of a...problem."

"A problem, sir?" Tom entertained the thought that perhaps Dumbledore had broken a leg. Or two.

"Yes, now come along, we've wasted enough time as it is." With that said, Dippet walked out from behind the corporate undecorated table with his robes billowing out behind him, trying to look like an intimidating figure and Tom tried his best to look rightly affected even though he actually wanted to just laugh out loud.

Dippet seemed not to notice, leaving the room in a flurry of robes, looking like an obese bat.

.

"_Now that we are all satisfied, I will get to the crux of things. A very warm welcome to new students and a warm welcome home to everyone else. Mr. Filch, our caretaker, would like to remind _everyone_ that the Forbidden Forest is forbidden for a reason, to all students." Was it just Harry or did he seem to look at him in particular this time?_

"_Also, anyone who is found prowling the corridors after curfew will suffer detentions as well as lose House points, so beware." At this, Harry, Ron and Hermione all shared a knowing look and cracked grins. _

"_Pen ultimately, I would like to inform you that Professor McGonagall, our resident Transfiguration Mistress, is relinquishing her post as Head of Gryffindor House in order to fully assume her post as Assistant Headmistress, which she finds rather stressful."_

_The Gryffindor table cried out in indignation, particularly Harry's own year - the sixth- at the thought of not having Minerva McGonagall as their Head. She was the epitome of Gryffindor's most wanted qualities – courteous, brave, daring – and was the backbone of the House. Dumbledore's hand held up quieted them, at least for now._

"_This leads me onto my last notice for tonight. I would like to announce to you, with pride, someone who has graciously offered to fill the Gryffindor Head of House post _and_ Defence Against The Dark Arts post, which was released just as Professor Umbridge was." There was a loud cheer – surprisingly from _all _tables and _Snape_ – at this._

"_I would like to present, Professor Naomi Blake." The students clapped politely, and craned their necks, only to find a gap still next to Snape, who was looking suspiciously paler than usual. _

BOOM!

_The doors opened and everyone's heads turned so fast that Harry almost got whiplash. A woman, whom he assume to be Professor Blake, walked in, her Muggle trenchcoat dripping from the rain. Behind her, a tall man walked in, watching her carefully, but still just as soaked._

"_And a new intern for Defence Against The Dark Arts, Nathan Comason."_

_Blake froze, all colour fading from her skin as she stared at the table. Harry's head flickered to the table too and saw Snape, still pale and still unlike the other Professors who were clapping and yelling madly – obviously they recognised her from some previous encounter. His eyes flickered between Snape, whose face was still pale but arranged into careful indifference, and Blake, whose face was contorted in such shock and pain, the likes of which Harry had never seen._

_And that was when Harry Potter remembered._

.

"Cantata, my dear, speed is of necessity." Albus said calmly and overwhelmingly, making Madame Cantata Luxor flush nervously – she was still new to the job, after all, and so very young in comparison to himself.

"I-I can't get the drawer open!" She stammered, tugging at the drawer forcefully.

"Well, then," Albus said, still frighteningly calm, "what shall we do with her?"

_Her_ was, of course, the girl that Albus Dumbledore was currently pinning down to the hospital bed. She thrashed and tried breaking free one more time, an almost inhuman roar spilling from her mouth.

"I'm going to rip out your twinkling, beady little eyes, dissect them and feed them to you! Let me up, _now!_" Albus actually looked mildly impressed with that one, but responded casually.

"Yes, yes, that's nice dear." This only seemed to enrage her more and she tried to knee him in a very sensitive place and Albus was forced to pin her thigh down with his knee.

"You patronising, manipulative, _murderer!_" She screamed right in his face and Albus, true to his name, went very, very white.

"I have not murdered _anyone_." He said calmly, and she grinned cruelly, victoriously, and Albus realised that she was baiting him.

"You're that sure? _Never_ cast _Priori Incantatem_ before? A couple of years back, when you were sixteen. Can't tell me you didn't know the spell back then either because I _know _that you did." She spat in his face, literally and figuratively speaking and he flinched.

"Cantata, _use your wand_." He instructed quietly and the girl under him screeched in defiance. Every time she got angry, she seemed to gain _more _strength and she had actually managed to push his fists back this time, completely unexpectedly, as Albus had pinned her down with his full strength.

The man was flung back, still gripping the girl's delicate-looking wrists tightly and she was pulled with him, the girl turning it into a pounce as she bit and clawed and kneed and punched – desperation and anger fuelling her actions – to gain her freedom.

It was at this point that Armando Dippet and Tom Riddle walked in, completely shocked at the sight of _the_ Albus Dumbledore being manually beaten to a pulp by a girl both half his age and size.

She stopped then, fist in mid-air, and turned slowly, her hair parting to show her eyes which were looking at the Headmaster calculatingly, such a startling green glinting intelligently and emotionally, her lively hair undulating down her back, a curtain of catastrophe, her skin slightly flushed from exertion.

Then slowly, at least to Tom, her eyes dragged and goose bumps rose on Tom's arms as their full intensity was concentrated on him. He was trapped in her eyes, her salient emerald eyes, as though all the green in the world - applegreen, emeraldgreen, grassgreen, leafgreen, scalegreen, Slytheringreen, buggreen – had all been drawn out and collected within her eyes, and he felt her regard, her disregard and anger and loathing, so much loathing.

That small two minute pause was all Dumbledore needed and a quick Full Body-Bind Charm was cast with such force that she was flung back, stiff as a rod, onto her bed. Her face was the picture of surprise and only her fresh green eyes shone with wrath.

"I'm going to free your mouth, understand?" Dumbledore said, trying to calm her down, even though she couldn't verbally acquiesce. Nonetheless, Dumbledore released a portion of the charm and she kept silent.

Something curled up in Tom, dark and anticipatory, at how easily she had dismissed her own emotions, the way her bright green eyes were now nothing more than a dull bottle-green.

"Understood, sir." She drawled.

"What is your name?" He said commandingly. And yet she just stared blankly, as unimpressed as Tom was.

"What's the magic word?" Tom hid his smirk.

"...Magic word?" Dumbledore prompted and the girl sighed.

"_Purebloods_." She said in mock-disappointment.

"Pureblood or not, you should answer the question. What is your name?" Dumbledore said forcefully.

"I'm _so _upset that you don't seem to recognise me, Uncle Al. Dad wouldn't be happy, and you _know _what his temper is like." She was ever so mocking, pouting at the older man. Dumbledore looked flabbergasted.

"_Uncle Al?_" Dippet repeated, disbelievingly. The girl, who had to be a Dumbledore herself, smiled eerily.

"Perhaps, you'd like a word with me now, sir? If you had listened to me just then, instead of trying to subdue me with petty first year spells, Professor—Dippet wouldn't have had to come all the way here." Dumbledore pressed a hand to his forehead and waved the other, releasing the Body Bind on the girl. She sat up right, crossed her legs and folded her hands in her lap.

"Yes—that would be best. Armando, if you please—and you as well, Tom..." Dumbledore muttered to himself, ushering them out.

_Crazy old coot. _

_._

_4:15 PM_

It was ridiculous that Tom had wasted an hour of his life outside the Hospital Wing, waiting for Dumbledore. The Transfiguration Professor had gestured Dippet in soon enough but as Tom had made a move to follow in, Dippet had merely said,

_You aren't required at this moment in time, Tom._

_The nerve_, Tom fumed. On the outside, he looked calm and collect, no way to tell the indignation bubbling under his skin except for the small, impatient twitching of his right leg. He heard the enormous clock within the school chime softly, as if it didn't want to intrude on the student's excited chattering, which signalled that another fifteen minutes had passed by.

_Enough is enough._

Tom knocked on the doors sharply and waited, trying not to let his temper show. After a few minutes, the door creaked open slightly and Tom took the opportunity to walk in.

"Ah, I'm very sorry Tom – we'd almost forgotten you were still outside." Dumbledore said, still smiling brilliantly, and Tom's face darkened momentarily. _You are not needed, foolish boy,_ Tom read between the lines and saw what the Professor meant.

Tom flashed a brilliantly fake smile and said cheerily, "It's alright, sir, I understand that Professor Dippet is a very busy man, what with being Headmaster and all."

_You have no real power._

"Checkmate." The girl remarked, a brow raised in a half-question. Tom titled the corner of his lip in recognition.

"Ah yes, we'd almost forgotten about _you_ as well, m'dear." Dumbledore said, twinkling at her too. He received a blank look in reply.

"Why is the boy here?" She asked abruptly, leaning back on her bed, feigning lack of interest.

"Well, this is Tom Riddle," Dumbledore said to the girl, who stiffened slightly then tipped her chin up to acknowledge him, "And Tom, this is my niece, Naomi."

Niece_? Oh really? _"It's a pleasure to meet you."

Tom stuck out his hand, his introduction swift and his fluctuations all in the correct places, sounding sensual and charming. She looked unaffected and shook his hand lightly. "Likewise."

_Now, why didn't that seem honest? _Tom thought, amused. "Naomi will be attending Hogwarts next year."

"Thank you once again for pointing out the obvious." Her cutting remark roused a sigh from Dippet's corner.

"Naomi, I und-" Dumbledore began, but was cut off as the girl held up her hand.

"No, you could never _understand_."

"Why don't you enlighten us, then?" Dippet broke in and the girl sighed, obviously irritated.

"_How _many times do you need me to repeat the same story?"

"I want _details _Miss Dumbledore."

"Those details are, pardon my frankness, none of your business. In fact, it's no one's business here at Hogwarts at all. Uncle will not interfere in the war – then he will not interfere in my life, either." Dumbledore's jaw clenched and the girl stared blankly at him. "I do hope the Ministry aren't going to be called into this."

In the end, there was no choice for Dippet. After hearing it phrased like that, he couldn't possibly keep going. Tom nearly smirked at the girl outright, her cool facade and high walls looking like temptation and the biggest challenge. "I-well...yes, very well."

Dumbledore looked sadly at his niece (_A niece! How could I have missed that?_) and smiled softly – something Tom thought he would never see him do. "I just hope he was a good man."

"He was." Her back straightened with pride and Tom was lost in the conversation, their eyes speaking tomes he'd never decipher.

"You will need to fill in some paperwork for you to attend...perhaps you could do that during the summer holidays and owl it to me?" Dippet said, breaking the heavy silence.

"Of course, Professor Dippet." She smiled a little at him before turning to Dumbledore. "Uncle, will I...?"

"Yes, well, about that..." Dumbledore said, his eyes shifted about the room.

"Uncle..."

"It seems as though there is a _little _problem—"

"—_Un_cle—"

"—what with you returning so quickly—"

"—_Albus—_"

"—I think it's best that you stay with Mr Riddle, here."

Her jaw ticked and she glared at her uncle, eyes furious. "You're _kidding._"

"I will have to sort out further arrangements, Naomi." He said, carefully and, once again, Tom felt the conversation go above his understanding. "Staying with Tom may be—conducive."

"It is a necessity." She agreed, if begrudgingly.

"I'm hurt, Miss Dumbledore."

"Do _not _talk to me." She said, off-handedly, not even throwing a glare his way.

"I'm sorry, but I will come to pick you up two weeks before the holidays end. There are some things we need to do."

"Yes. There will be." Her voice was vacant, and melancholic, and sad and full of slow-burning anger.

The clock struck and silence became their companion.


	3. Chapter 2: What Lies Across That Line

_**p**__erception_

**r**eal-placebo-effect

_**.**_

_**w**__hat __**l**__ies __**a**__cross __**t**__hat __**l**__ine?_

_whoever wishes to keep a secret must hide the fact he has one_

johann wolfgang von goethe

_._

_wednesday, july 25__th__, 1941_

_9:25 AM_

.

Tom loaded his bags onto the train and tried to ignore the awkward family situation next to him. Albus and Naomi Dumbledore.

"Uncle Al, I hate to sound ungrateful and all..." The girl said, fidgeting. "But could you just go away? You're making this a bigger issue than it is."

Tom pretended not to hear the furious, whispered conversation that ensued and listened as closely as he could, to no avail.

It ended with an unexpected, "Very well, Naomi."

She smiled gratefully at him and unexpectedly hugged the red-haired man. A small cough from his right alerted him to someone trying to gain his attention.

"Tom," Dumbledore said, his eyes twinkling. "Thank you so much for taking care of her-" _As if I had a choice,_"-and, as always, do owl me if you find yourself in need. I will pick her up two weeks before the end of the holidays."

"Yes, Professor." Tom replied, not at all missing the eye roll from the girl.

"Can we get on the train now?" She said, checking her nails looking bored. Of course _she _wasn't the one who had to load the suitcases. Tom could swear that the girl had piled her suitcase with rocks, simply to be spiteful. She was a Dumbledore, after all.

"Yes, I believe you can." Dumbledore said. "Take care of yourself, my dear."

"Trust me when I say I will, Uncle Al."

_How the bloody hell do people not notice this?_ Tom thought, actually amazed.

"Goodbye." She said, rather awkwardly and walked into the train. The second Tom looked for Dumbledore, he had disappeared.

"Are you coming in?" She asked. Tom forced a flush to his face and walked in, too. "Which carriage are we talking?"

"This one. It believe it's empty." He replied, gesturing to the first one he found, closest to the exit. Luckily enough, it _was_ empty and they, the girl immediately sitting so that she took up a whole side on her own, her back leaning against the window, pulling out a book from Merlin-knew-where.

Tom made himself comfortable for the journey and the train soon started moving in sharp, jerky motions. After ten minutes, he was bored. He watched with interest though when she wove her hand in the general direction of the carriage door and it seemed to bolt itself.

"How did you do that?" Tom enquired. She looked up, startled, as though she'd forgotten he was there. Then she blinked and the look was wiped from her face. He stared at her as she stared back.

"Magic." She said, wriggling her fingers at him, as he scowled. Her smiled widely and returned to her book as Tom resigned himself to sleeping the ride away. He needed as much as he could get, after all; it _was_ summer.

_._

_Harry walked into the kitchen, looking for Hermione – Snape had given them a nasty Potions essay to do over the summer, as he did every summer. Just as Harry was about to push the doors open, voices filtered through the wood, pausing his hands. _

_He should've just turned around and walked away; Hermione would probably be in the library and it was probably some kind of Order business anyway. Yet he stayed, pressing his ear against the door, straining to hear the hushed conversation._

"—and they've returned." _Harry jolted as he realised who it was; Dumbledore, the man who had cooped him up in Privet Drive for majority of the summer, not so much as looked at him during his trial and had ordered everyone to keep him out of the loop. _

_Another jolt because this time, it was Snape talking._ "You can't be serious, Albus. They can't be trusted. You saw what happened after—"

"—I think they can do this. They're incredibly powerful and their absence has no doubt only made them stronger." _Dumbledore said, matter-of-factly, voice broking no argument_. "I've gone to great lengths to get them on our side."

_So these people could betray the Order at any given moment?_

"So these people could betray the Order at any given moment?" _Snape said, apparently thinking the same thing as Harry._

"They would never betray the Order. Trust me on this one, Severus." _Dumbledore reassured, but Harry still had doubts._

"They _hate _you Albus. Or at least, she does." _Snape said, cynically. "_After what she classified as a betrayal from you, why the bloody hell would she come back to England? After all these years, why now?"

_Now Harry was intrigued; no one but Voldemort could hate Dumbledore._ "Severus, I have no idea why you are so against this; I thought you would be overjoyed to see a childhood friend! And you, Sirius? And Remus? Surely, you are not against this as well."

_There was silence, and Harry was afraid they'd found him. until Lupin spoke up. _"It'll be good to have her home. It's been a long time, and maybe, she's willing to give us another chance."

_There was more silence, until Sirius spoke his voice barely audible and empty and bitter. _"And so the Blake sisters return."

_._

_4:30 PM_

.

"Hello? Earth to idiot?" Someone was slapping his face none-too-gently. Tom was exhausted and flinched, turning his head away but refusing to open his eyes.

She sighed. "Do you _want_ to eat or not? You look anorexic enough as it is; I'd hate for you to die on me. There'd probably be paperwork and everything, and Fate knows just how much I hate that..."

Just as she said that, the beautiful fragrance of food circulated around his nose, seducing him awake.

After taking a generous bite of the proffered sandwiches, which she insisted on paying for, much to his annoyance, he looked at her. She seemed incredibly tense, barely touching her own food, and her foot was bouncing up and down, for one reason or the other.

"Will you not eat?"

"No." She said simply, her viridian orbs dragging themselves back to him, at full intensity. Something rushed through him then, hot and hard and uncontrollable and he remembered, remembered the smell of rain and desperation and fear and warmth and life. Images blurred passed his mind, at a hundred miles per hour, unrestrained, wild, frenzied, frantic, frenetic, chaotic all blurring over each other until he could make no sense, and it was overwhelming him, the knowledge, the power, the lust, the pure magnetic attraction of it all, but he couldn't process a thing, and the images all twisted together, a whirling cyclone within his own mind and—

"_Riddle, get a grip!_"

Tom's grey eyes slid back into focus at the sound of her sharp voice and sharp eyes and he was surprised and slightly disorientated at the sudden clarity. "What happened?"

Although he murmuring to himself, she took the liberty and replied, "I don't really know. You asked me if I wanted to eat, I said no, you said the food at the orphanage was rubbish and then you just kind of froze up and I called your name for about...ten, maybe fifteen minutes? You didn't answer until just now."

That was most disturbing indeed.

_._

_1:30 PM_

.

He's Tom Marvolo Riddle.

I can remember every word that has ever been said to me about him. Manipulative, intelligent, cruel. Hypocritical, despotic, psychotic. Cunning, sly, charming. Handsome, ugly, dark. Curious, furious and powerful.

And _damn_, was he powerful. Even now, in a relaxed state, there were still waves of it, pouring over me like liquid chocolate, alluring and tugging relentlessly, over and over.

He was also staring at me.

I could feel it, his eyes roaming over my face fastidiously, taking pieces of my face and dissecting it, cross-referencing, identifying, analysing. There was nothing intimate or admiring about it; it was methodical and meticulous. Feeling slightly annoyed – I had every right to be – I raised my own eyes, studying him the same way he studied me, knowing full well the effect that my eyes had on him.

As predicted, his eyes couldn't meet mine. I couldn't shake off the feeling that I'd seen those eyes somewhere before.

"_Yes,_ Riddle?" I prompted.

"You're the Professor's niece." I supposed he wanted an answer.

"Yes." No one said it had to be detailed, after all.

"I wasn't aware the Professor had siblings." He said, carefully.

I raised an eyebrow. "I wasn't aware that you and my uncle had such an open relationship."

"How old are you?" He asked, teeth glinting.

I did the math. "Fourteen."

"Where are you from?" I expected something along the lines of "Are you a pureblood", so this is pretty refreshing, isn't it?

"I'm from England."

"Why are you tanned?"

"That's a stupid question." I said, flatly. I wanted to hurt him, to tear at his skin and eyes and fake smiles, because I could still remember the way he smiled when he sent those curses, as if all our lives meant _nothing_.

"If so, why won't you just answer, then?"

"Because you're an annoying git." I snapped. I wished I didn't have to hide my wand from him; I wanted to cast _Crucio _over and over – like he'd done to me. Or would do to me. Or might do to me. Or is doing to me. Time-travel is a bitch.

"I hardly think—"

"That my antagonism to you is warranted? No, it is. You keep prying – don't think I didn't see you on the platform, Riddle – and it irritates me. If you had the right to know, you would _know._ Whoever it is you're trying to delude—"

"Delude, Miss Dumbledore?" His voice was startling empty, devoid of all emotion. I wondered if he was angry and then I realised I didn't care. "I'm not trying to _delude_ anyone. I merely thought, seeing as we will be having a joint summer, that it would be far more _conducive _to at least be acquainted with you. I clearly don't know about yourself, but I, for one, would actually like an _enjoyable _summer."

"Oh, really?" I replied, withholding all the emotion from my own voice. "I'm sure, then, that you're familiar with the old adage that knowledge is power."

His face was impassive, but I trudged on nonetheless knowing I had hit the nail on the head, making my voice cutting. "I suggest, _Riddle_, that you stay away from me. Stop asking your artless, tactless, asinine questions because your rather pathetic attempt at obtaining information, is so transparent, I pity you. You do not want to cross me, Riddle. I am not like these other girls."

He raised an arrogant eyebrow and I resisted the urge to punch him. Instead, I stopped and stared at him, taking some kind of fierce joy and pleasure as he squirmed and fidgeted under my gaze, his own eyes flickering away to the floor in defeat.

_._

_1:45 PM_

.

Riddle was still fuming, I could tell. He looked so remarkably like Harry that it hurt sometimes, but it did make his body language a little easier to read. Even in the familiarity, there were huge differences between Harry and the would-be Dark Lord. Harry had Lily's eyes, a square face and prominent jaw line, and thin pliable lips. Riddle, though, had a much more striking face; aristocratic, arrogant, soft and charming.

As my mind drifted, I couldn't help but think about Fate's message. Not all wars are fought with wands? But how else could I stop him other than killing him? I glanced towards Riddle, worrying my bottom lip. He was asleep, finally, and it would've been so easy. I knew three hundred ways to kill – painful and easy and undetectable – no one would be able to trace it back to me. I only needed to say one word.

My wand hadn't been activated yet – still on the stacks at Ollivanders', technically – I'd have to do it nonverbally.

Practicality and pragmatism kicked in sooner than I'd hoped.

"_Make sure no harm comes to him. Naomi. I know you're angry, and I know you hate him, and I am sorry for this. But I only have your best intentions at heart."_

Albus didn't want Riddle dead. He would know – and you should _never _alienate a willing ally, especially not some as powerful and influential as Albus Dumbledore. I wouldn't be able to do it in the summer, not with all the Muggles and the Trace placed back on me. According to Albus, Riddle would be the most guarded at the orphanage too; there was little chance of catching him unawares.

What was I supposed to, then?

_._

_4:17 PM_

_._

_Oh, for the love of Mary._

Tom was snoring; not like those soft little snores that adolescents sometimes do, but big, rumbling noises. When he'd first snored, she had actually thought it was an earthquake.

He was deeply asleep. Besides the snoring, he looked completely relaxed and his chest rising and falling slowly, as his hair fell over his face, peaceful and unguarded.

_I should just kill him now._

_I'd be doing the world a favour. _

Her hands fumbled for her purse, which Albus had charmed to be bottomless, and found the rough outline of her wand. She ran through the three hundred ways she's learnt to kill a man, the words blurring in her mind as she tried not to panic.

She didn't know what else to do; she was out of options. Naomi couldn't avenge them all – names written on her skin and behind her eyes in blood and pale bone – not without spilling his blood. Or her own. She was just as responsible, after all, for this mess.

She wouldn't be able to do it, though. She wanted to tear him apart, drag knives over his pale skin and gouge his eyes would with a spoon – but Naomi knew better than anyone that she was _weak._

She blinked and saw a child.

Tom was slumbering, face slightly flushed from the warmth of train and he was just a _child. _He'd barely scraped the age of having lived life – never felt the soft lips of a woman against his own, never pressed into the heat between a woman's legs, never felt Firewhiskey burn its way down his throat. He'd not found friends to share his curiosities with, to nudge shoulders with in the corridors, had never watched the dawn.

With a jolt. Naomi realised he never would.

Not only would he miss out on all the beautiful little facets of life, but _millions_ would miss out on this – herself, included. Misery and loneliness and fury and helplessness would thread through their lives and there was nothing she could do to stop it.

Because he was just a child, and Naomi would not kill him.

She hung her head in shame.

_._

_7:29 PM_

.

He had finally drifted off again, only to jolt awake to someone's cold fingers poking his sides. He looked at the girl, annoyed. "What?"

"We're about to arrive, and you haven't changed."

"It's alright," She raised an eyebrow at this, apparently amused."I do not need to change,"

"Of course, should've known." She remarked. The girl glanced outside the window. "We've arrived."

True to her word, the train came to a stop with a loud screech. Tom hurriedly grabbed his things and beckoned to the girl, who was already leaning against the doorframe, waiting for him. "Come on, Riddle. We don't have all day."

She threw him a grin over her shoulder, and Tom raised an eyebrow at her sudden change of attitude.

.

_7:39PM_

_._

Mrs Cole was not what Naomi had been expecting, not at all. Instead of an old, decrepit, buck-tooth, age-ridden flesh covering idiocy, she met a striking beauty with dark, calculating eyes, high cheekbones, supple arms and rough hands that had known rougher times. The signs of age were present in the barely perceptible crow's feet and the odd grey hair, but Naomi just assumed that was hardship.

Running an orphanage can't be easy, after all.

"I was ever so happy when I heard that Tom would be bringing one of his friends over! It's a pity you can't stay the whole summer though, dear. You seem like such a nice girl!" Mrs Cole, or Harriet, as she'd made Naomi call her, said. She risked a glance towards Tom and, to her surprise, found that his look mirrored her own – complete and utter shock.

_But __surely __he'd seen her before?_

"Thank you so much for letting me stay...I had always been so nervous to ask Tom-" Naomi tried to keep her voice steady and excited, not to waver and catch and spit out _lord voldemort the dark lord I detest and despise you_ instead, "-but I'm glad I did this time! I just hope it isn't too much trouble...it was quite a hasty decision..."

"Oh, nonsense, dear!" Mrs Cole said, dismissively. "I'm glad to see Tom has some friends!"

She filed away the response for future reference, watching Tom looking more and more like he was drowning by the minute. "Of course, Harriet."

"Oh, but, the Professor's _niece_? I never even knew he had _siblings_!" Mrs Cole exclaimed.

"Yes, I'm his younger brother's daughter. I'm not surprised that Dad isn't as well known...Aberforth Dumbledore and Albus Dumbledore are complete opposites."

"You're such a young thing, too!"_Oh, the irony_. "Are you Tom's girlfriend?"

There was a curious tone to Mrs Cole's voice – something darker and laced with fury – but Naomi couldn't grasp at it, the explanation and the feelings sliding away from her, as though she's cupping water. Naomi turned to Tom, a shared look against a myriad of _nothing_ and it baffled her completely, because Tom's eyes slid away once again.

"No," She laughed, her voice wavering, "No, I'm not."

_._

_8:30PM_

.

She grew more and more interesting by the second, every second he watched her. She'd quirk her lips, let the light shine into her eyes _just so_, angle her eyebrows minutely but he saw through it all. And Tom knew he'd have to be careful, so careful around her because she was damn good at this.

What was _this_? It was a game, of course. The only game that had ever really mattered to Tom – acquisition of knowledge, because knowledge was _power. _Charm and mould everyone to perfection, to their own purposes. What Naomi Dumbledore's purposes were, Tom didn't know. But what he _did _know was that she played her part flawlessly – almost too flawlessly for her to have never done this before.

He found it very difficult to look into her eyes. He knew exactly why, though, so Tom wasn't worried. Besides their startling intensity, her eyes nearly always watched him accusingly.

As if he had done some great injustice to her.

He found it disconcerting when she looked at him because, quite frankly, her gaze was just as piercing as her uncle's, just as judgemental and condemning with their eternal green.

His gaze, yet again, flickered to the girl. She looked peaceful, unlike the first time he ever saw her..._asleep_. He continued watching her, the reason Tom was not too sure of, catalogued silently the nuances of her face. Sometimes, her eyebrow would quirk or her eyelids flutter. She looked so innocent and innocuous that it _sickened_ him; it was all a facade, and she had no idea how far Tom would go to win the game.

She had no idea, whatsoever.

"_Tom, I know that she will be somewhat of a...riddle to you. And, by all means, I _encourage _you to find out as much about her as you can; alas, even I am estranged with my beloved niece." Dumbledore stopped at this point, his blue eyes not twinkling anymore and looking keenly at him. "But I implore you, Tom, do not push her. She is brittle and unable to withstand such...attentions right now. She would be destroyed if you force the truth from her."_

He thought about it, thought about seeing her sobbing and screaming and pleading, thought about her green eyes glassy and empty – and something dark curls along his spine, spreads through his legs and heart.

Tom flexed his fingers and a small smile touched his lips.


	4. Chapter 3: The Silence

_**p**__erception_

**r**eal-placebo-effect

.

_**t**__he __**s**__ilence_

_._

_true silence is the rest of the mind; it is to the spirit what sleep is to the body, nourishment and refreshment._

william penn

_._

_thursday, july 26__th__, 1941_

_7:23 AM_

.

The girl had been oddly quiet. Admittedly, it had only been a day, but Tom had high expectations from the little girl who had manually beat down a wizard and she wasn't living up to them. She was silent, _almost too silent_, he adds on, darkly.

She'd been silent since they'd slid into the car that would take them to the orphanage.

Tom had expected more – expected a stream of questions about Muggle life and disdainful comments about the sheer brutality of it all. But there had been nothing, not even cool acknowledgement. On their arrival, she'd been shown to her room and slid in through the slip of her door without so much as a _thank you_, a small _click_ left in the space she used to occupy. It was as though the girl was locked up in herself, seeing nothing out of her blank eyes.

He focused once again on the scene before him, as the door slid open like a parody of the last time it had shut on his face, and the girl stood there, the unflattering grey uniform only making her skin look even more pallid.

"Riddle." Her greeting was bland, made Tom's brow furrow, before she gestured for him to lead the way. Tom did so after nodding curtly at her, confusion and unease gnawing at him, still.

"This way."

She followed him, silent and unquestioning.

_._

_"She's a bit...odd, isn't she, Harry?" Hermione asked, lips bitten raw._

_"I don't think she's—odd. Maybe just, I dunno, unique?" Harry suggested. Ron rolled his eyes from next to the Boy-Who-Lived._

_"Thought you'd be asking why the bloody hell we're gonna be sneaking around after curfew, _without the Cloak!_" Ron exclaimed. Then he grinned. "Then again, I_am _wrong, sometimes."_

_Harry chuckled as he responded. "Or maybe Hermione just grew a pair."_

_"Either way, I'm _not _going to go check, mate." Ron countered, throwing his hands up in defeat._

_Harry laughed and Hermione glared, but a small smile grew on her lips nonetheless. "Honestly, you two are _so _immature. I just think—"_

_Suddenly, Hermione stopped smiling. Ron craned his neck, trying to see what Hermione was seeing and glowered. "Snape's heading this way!"_

_The Trio scrambled, trying to hide and finally managed to hide behind a familiar, and fortunately friendly, suit of armour. As Snape walked in from one direction, __un__fortunately for _them_, two students – second-years by the looks of it – chose that moment to laugh loudly, walking right in front of Snape._

_"Stop." He intoned, and the doomed second-years froze. "Turn." _

_They did and were faced with the oncoming wrath Potions Master. "Fifteen points, for sneaking around after hours."_

_"That's hardly fair, Professor, seeing as how there's still ten minutes to curfew." Blake interrupted¸ smoothly. Snape looked slightly startled as he turned to face the witch; she'd seem to have appeared from nowhere, raising an eyebrow to the surly man._

_"Tell me, _Blake,_" Snape sneered, recovering from his surprise quickly, spitting out her name like it was a curse. "How will these students gather enough brainpower to coordinate themselves to run when they can't even do the most mundane tasks assigned? I can assure you that it will most certainly take a lot longer than the ten minutes to curfew. "_

"_Git." Ron muttered under his breath and Harry nudged at him, hard._

_"Of course, Professor Snape." Blake replied, looking defeated, head hung low. Snape smirked and turned to walk off, but managed to catch her saying,_

_"Well, Professor_ _Snape did make a good point, in his roundabout kind of way. There's only ten minutes to curfew and you're in the opposite direction of your Common Room. But—in the spirit of the new year...take ten points for not arguing with him!" Blake smiled at the second-years who smiled shyly in return before running off as they sensed the not so metaphorical ominous cloud that was Snape heading back their way._

_"What was the meaning of that, Blake?" Snape hissed as the two students scurried away, eyes wide._

_"A gift, I suppose." She countered, tipping her chin in a show of defiance, a smirk growing on her face. "They still lost five points, didn't they?"_

_"That's not the _point_! The point is _you_ showing favouritism to your Gryffin-"_

_"_Favouritism?_" Blake exclaimed. "I haven't been in this castle for a _day _and you're already accusing me of _favouritism_? _You_, the only teacher to _enjoy _awarding points to Slytherin? You clearly didn't see their ties just now, so let _me_ inform _you—_" Here she poked the chest of the annoyed Potions Master. "—that those two were both _Hufflepuffs_, not Gryffindors. So, your accusations are as baseless as they've always been, Severus."_

_She turned to walk away, but Snape stopped her with nothing but his next words, which were said coldly. "Perhaps you should zip up your shirt a bit more, _Professor_. No one wants to see your overused assets."_

_She froze, turning slowly, a dark look on her face. "_Overused? _I'm hoping that you're not insinuating what I think you're insinuating."_

_"Not _insinuating_, no." Snape replied, a cold smirk on his face, making Blake's jaw tick with suppressed fury. Her heels clacked along the empty corridor as she stormed back to him, pale hands a contrast against the sheer black of his robes, as her fingers fisted themselves in the material to drag him close._

_Harry could _hear_ Ron's growing horror at the unfolding scene and had to fight to stop laughing out loud._

_"As a Professor, I'm here to educate, am I not?" She murmured, each syllable dragged slow and heatedly, "Won't you let me __educate_ _you? Let me learn all the places of your body and let me press against you so you can feel just how overused my assets really are? Hmm, Professor?"_

_She slowly tugging on the zip of her shirt revealing more skin, flushed and warm. It was clear that Blake had no desire to pursue this, what with the way she stopped unzipping just as the shadowed areas of her chest were brought to light, but he was still ridiculously delighted when Snape, scowling all the while, put his hand over hers, zipping up the shirt again, two high spots of red appearing on each cheek, unable to meet Blake's eyes._

_"I thought not." She said, smugly. Her fingers dug into the man's jaw as she forced his gaze back to her, "Besides, I don't see _any _overused goods here. Just one piece of _unused_ equipment."_

_Her eyes flickered momentarily to his groin and Snape's face turns purple. "Goodnight, Professor Snape."_

_"You—" Snape tried to snarl out, grabbing Blake's upper arm. She whirled around, wand out and pressed against the man's jugular. There's a moment of complete stillness between them, both furious and unwilling to give in, and then Snape's hand loosened its grip on her arm, the fury falling away from his face until he looked exhausted._

_The look on his face was so unfamiliar and raw, Harry had to look away._

"_Merlin, Sev." She said, quietly, as she pulled away, running a hand through her hair roughly. "I can't—"_

_She fled and Snape turned on his heel, leaving the Trio to look at each other, completely and utterly confused._

_._

_sunday, july 29__th__, 1941_

_7:47 AM_

.

As everything in life did, they settled into a mundane routine. Tom would knock politely on the girl's door, waiting for less than a minute outside her room, and take her down to breakfast. He supposed that the girl would talk to Dumbledore of her experience at Wool's – and her impression of him – and if he showed initiative maybe the Transfiguration Professor would give him more room to breathe.

He'd definitely need it next year.

After breakfast, they settled down in whatever corner they could find, and passed the day away doing ordinary things; reading books, writing letters. It was the most peaceful Tom's time at the orphanage had ever been.

Sometimes, they'd play chess.

The girl had lost every game so far – her moves a typical bold and rash kind that were nearly always transparent. _Gryffindor_, he'd smirked. Tom pointed out her technique and its flaws and she merely gave him a blank smile,

_I couldn't ever just sacrifice the pawns like that._

On Saturday morning, Tom found himself falling into routine once again; waiting outside her room, which had once belonged to Delia Summers. The girl was ten minutes later than she was usually and Tom was near restless with impatience. He contemplated knocking on the door once more but it slid open before he could, just wide enough to allow her small form through.

"Sorry I'm late." She said, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. There were rules about hair length – about tying it up, at least – but somehow, strands always fell out, irritating both of them, but no one commented. She offered no explanations and Tom wouldn't ask – he didn't particularly care.

He ignored the gooseflesh rising on his neck and arms.

They headed toward a table – slightly less rickety than the others – and set their cups and plates on the table down carefully. As the girl put a spoonful into her mouth, she winced and Tom smirked widely at her before taking his own bite with a grimace. The other children kept well away from both the girl and himself – and Tom made the mistake of relaxing.

"Hello there. I'm Leon Bailey. My friends and I wanted to welcome you to Wool's Orphanage." Bailey's voice was polite as always, a stab in the dark at being charming – _he wouldn't know charming if it came to him as a roast chicken_, Tom sneered, stabbing the dismal grey sludge on his plate – calling the girl's attention to him. Bailey had clearly been standing there for a few minutes and Tom hid a smirk at the thought that perhaps he'd been ignored.

"Naomi." She said curtly and paused in her eating to slide her cool green gaze over the group of adolescents only to dismiss them with ease. _No surname supplied_, Tom noted, curiously.

"It's a _pleasure _to meet you," Bailey gave her a toothy grin. Seeing her lack of response, Leon decided to take another route. "Have you been sho—"

"Yes." She replied cutting him off. "Tom's showed me around already, thank you."

"Tom?" Bailey asked, evidently surprised. He turned to face him as though he'd only just noticed Tom sitting there. "You two _friends_ or somethin'?"

"I suppose so." She said, slowly turning to meet Bailey full on. Tom felt satisfaction as the other boy flinched slightly at being the object of her scrutiny (and no, it wasn't because Tom felt happy that others found her gaze disconcerting too, despite that small rush of relief that said otherwise). "Why?"

"Why on earth would you bother with him?" Bailey sneered, gesturing in his general direction. "He's a _freak_."

"A freak?" She inquired, her face carefully arranged to look curious against her own will. Perhaps Tom was the only one who could see the building anger in her eyes and the set of her arms.

"A _total_ freak." Bailey said, stopping for what Tom assumed was an unnecessary dramatic pause. It was utterly amusing how the boy seemed to talk about him as though Tom wasn't _sitting right in front of him_. "Strange things happen to people around him, y'know?"

"Is that so?" She asked, shortly, but it was restrained enough for Bailey not to notice.

"Exactly. Just look that creepy school he goes to. Full of nutt—"

The resounding _clang _as the girl's spoon dropped in her empty plate shut the other boy up completely.

"First thing's first, _Leon_." She snapped. "_First_, I _go _to that creepy school you're talking about. _Second_, you're insulting my _friend_, right in front of him as though he's not there. _Third_, one of those _nutters _is my _uncle_, who happens to be a _teacher _at the _creepy school _that I go to. "

"H-hey, I'm so-" Bailey didn't get to finish as the girl continued, slightly louder, on her tirade.

"_Fourth_, I don't need your insincere apologies." She wrinkled her nose. "You're not sorry, and neither am I. Stay _away _from me, _Leon _or you will regret it, _little boy_. After all, birds of a feather, flock together, right, Tom?"

She raised an eyebrow towards him, and Tom smirked, a thrill running through him as Bailey paled in the thought that the girl might just have similar abilities to Tom. If he'd actually been asked, Tom would have rejected this fiercely – the girl was weaker than him. He couldn't even _sense_ her magic, that's just how pitiful it was.

She turned back to Tom, smiling widely, clearly dismissing Bailey as one of his cronies murmured, sympathetically. "Better luck next time, mate."

_._

_thursday, august 2nd , 1941_

_8:20 AM_

.

She'd gotten into the habit of jogging in the morning, after the pitiful excuse for a breakfast they were served every day. It was one of the only times Naomi could remember that the thought of returning to Hogwarts had appealed to her. The jogging calmed her down, and she knew she'd needed to get her body back into shape if she wanted any hope of catching up with Riddle's power.

Not to say she was weak – she'd merely been hiding her magic – but Naomi was notably incapacitated after the battle. She couldn't do any more than jogging, but she felt it was a good start considering the extent of her injuries.

After discussing at length with Harriet, Naomi had been allowed to go – with Tom's supervision – to the park nearby to train. It wasn't small, but it wasn't the size she was used to. _It doesn't matter,_ she told herself firmly. It's not like she could practise uprooting trees anyhow. Naomi had decided on starting out with the basics – stretches, meditation and jogging.

Riddle usually sat down by a bench, reading some book or another, power oozing out as though taunting her with it. Naomi wondered if he thought about world domination or setting the park on fire or cursing the loud, laughing toddler as the child passed him by. But then she realised she had better things to do.

Slowly but surely, she'd been working herself up. From one lap, she managed two and now, was slowly working herself up to four laps. Naomi's mind whirred as she jogged, the Riddle (as she'd aptly named it) repeating over and over in her mind. _What do I do? Where do I go? What do I _do?

Naomi realised pretty early on that she knew _nothing_ about the future psychopath she was living with – besides his name and house. _Tom Marvolo Riddle, heir of Slytherin, Lord Voldemort._ The last, at least, Naomi was confident she knew enough about – his attack plans, his defence, the Inner Circle, his snakes within the Ministry.

But Riddle and Voldemort seemed, to her surprise, like two different people.

Naomi stood upright once more, trying to hide the fact that she'd been scrutinising Riddle and began to start jogging. She nearly tripped over her own feet when Riddle got up, walking at a brisk pace next to her.

"How many rounds do you usually do?" Riddle enquired, breaking the silence. Naomi considered lying to him, because she can't show weakness, but decided against it. She had no idea when he'd become a Legillimens. _There is still so much I don't know about him. How do you combat the unknown?_

"Anywhere ranging from one to five."

"And today?"

"Today...maybe three."

"I see-_oompf!_" Before he can continue what he was saying, Riddle suddenly disappeared and she stopped, looking around.

"Riddle?"

.

The blurs in front of him slowly cleared up and the image of the rock he'd hit his head on became unmistakable. How did this even happen?

One minute, he was attempting civil conversation with the girl and the next, he was falling down the slope, which was _conveniently_ covered in trees and rocks. _She must've pushed me,_ Tom decided. _Annoying little bint._

Sitting up, Tom reached for that aching spot on his head, rubbing it gently. _I'm definitely going to feel _that _tomorrow morning_...

His head spun and he slowly became aware of a dull throb in his leg—his whole body,actually. Trying to discern where he was, Tom squinted and sighed loudly when he could see nothing but unfamiliar trees, ones that kept on repeating over and over again. Sighing again at his predicament, Tom decided on a course of action.

The only way was forward, after all.

_._

_Oh, this is hopeless! Completely and utterly hopeless! _Tom thought frantically, still dragging himself through the god-forsaken woods – no wait, _jungle_, and trying not to put pressure on his leg, which was still throbbing. His fingers had numerous splinters in them, and he had a niggling suspicion that his littlest finger was broken, making his hands too sensitive to check.

He finally caved in, yelling out his frustration, punching his fist into a nearby tree trunk, only to hiss in pain at the contact and retract his hand immediately, the throbbing worse than ever, tucking it close to his chest.

"Well, that was pretty stupid of you." A breathy voice came from behind him, and Tom turned around, while trying not to move his injured leg, so fast that he ended tripping and falling over.

"You!" Tom snarled, pointing a splinter-covered finger at her. She raised an eyebrow in reply.

"Yes, Naomi, at your service." She mocked, curtsying. Tom glared at her.

"You—I—park—you _pushed _me!" He snapped, his eyes widening like plates. The girl looked shocked for a second, her eyes were amused, wondering perhaps when he would start foaming at the mouth, before a scowl plastered itself to her face.

"How dare you accuse me of doing anything like that?" She demanded. "You know, I actually _like _decent conversation, like the one we were having before you decided to be an idiot andtrip over a rock!"

"I did not _trip_!" Tom argued. "You _pushed _me, with your big, manly hands, and th-"

"I _do not _have manly hands, you je-"

"And _Merlin_ knows, if you wanted to molest m-"

"_Molest you?_ I'd choose Leon Bailey over you any-"

"-e or something, you stupid, annoying-"

"-day of any week! You're an egotistical, obsessive –"

"Vapid, sycophantic-"

"Arrogant, with your stalker hab -"

"Haughty, foul-mouthed-"

"Emotionless, obtuse-"

"_Idiot!" _They both yelled, glaring and eyes flashing with anger. Their chests rose and fell with each breath, tension flying like sparks. Tom opened his mouth – no doubt for a cutting remark – but was halted.

_Drip._

The girl stared at him, her eyes widening in comprehension. She reached out to his knees, greedy and grabby.

"What are you doing?" Tom growled out, moving away from her.

_Drip._

"You're bleeding, Riddle." She pointed out. "It's your leg. Just let me—"

"No, I'm quite fine." He ground out. _She's trying to molest me, I swear to Merlin. _Tom thought frantically. _First pushing me into bushes and now _this_._

"Riddle, what is wrong with you?" She said voice sharp and eyes narrowing in suspicion. "What plant did you land on? Was it a magic mushroom? Belladonna?"

"No." He snarled. "_I'm _fine; I should be asking _you _this, you're the one trying to _molest me in a park!_"

"Riddle, there's something wrong!" The witch insisted, quite annoyingly. "Let me check you for injuries. It was an incredibly steep hill that you, uh, were pushed down."

"So, you admit you pushed me?"

"Pfft, no." She rolled her eyes, and Tom's eyes narrowed in response. "Riddle, please. I know you're hurt and I just want to help. Please."

"I'm _not _hurt and I _don't _need your help, _Dumbledore_." He spat, and to accentuate his point, he tried to stand up. Tom fell to the ground in a heap and refused to look at her face.

"Oh right, my mistake, you just tripping about all over the place acting like a drug-addict whilst smearing blood everywhere is a perfectly normal daily occurrence." The girl countered, sarcastically.

"There is nothing wrong me." Tom insisted, pushing her hands away roughly. "Get _away _from me."

But she stopped his resisting with her next words, delivered so softly that he struggled to catch them, "Riddle, _please_. "

He looked into her eyes and found, to his shock, not pity or contempt, but a sort of urgency and fear. Tom tore his eyes away, almost feeling her puzzlement at his actions, before her whole posture seemed to relax in relief.

His hands fell away from her wrists, allowing the girl to move them freely.

She got to work quickly, ripping away the leg of his trousers, just to the knees to assess the damage. Her eyebrows drew together at what she saw. "Riddle, how did you _not_ notice a _branch _sticking out through your bloody calf?"

"I'm not quite sure." He replied, quite honestly. She gave him an amused look and brought out her water bottle, unscrewing the lid quickly. _Where was that this whole time?_ Tom thought, absently.

"Riddle, I'm going to pull out the branch, okay?" She explained, and Tom wasn't sure if it was meant to reassure him or not, but it did, by a small fraction. "This is _definitely _going to hurt. Sorry."

Without further ado, she pulled out the piece of wood with an ominous _slick_ sound of something very bodily and _real and imbedded in his calf._ The pain that came to Tom was unbearable – throbbing, throbbing, aching and burning, acidic, throbbing, throbbing, concentrated all on one spot, stabbed, throbbing, throbbi-

"—shh, it's okay, Tom, you're doing good. It's okay, m'gonna help you—" She murmured, her voice pulling him back to earth, back to sanity, back to reality, shuffling even closer, hesitating only slightly before caressing his cheek. Another jolt of pain went through him and he gasped at feeling the same pain again and he watched as the girl's face paled.

"No, no, no, not possible—h-he—no-_how? Why?_" She said fervently, to herself, but by Merlin, if she didn't stop the agony _now _he was going to stab _her_ with the stick. See how she liked it.

"What are you _waiting _for, Dumbledore? All my blood to leak out of the gaping wound on my calf? _Do something._" Tom hissed and her eyes snapped back into focus, just as another wave of pain crashed over him, tugging him into the sensation, and he didn't want to, and Merlin this bloody _hurt_ and he was—

Tom sighed out in relief as the cool water washed over his leg and he slid his turbulent eyes open to see the girl's eyes narrowed in rapture. She spoke, without even looking at him, an action Tom found rather insulting – "I have to make sure there aren't any splinters in your leg muscles. This might—agitate you. Sorry."

This time though, Tom could control his gasps, because her hands were just as cool as the water as they gently cleared away the dirt and other impurities imbedded in his salmon-pink, bloody flesh. After a few minutes of her doing so, Tom spoke up. "Where did you learn to do this?"

She paused for a moment, her hands and facial features frozen, before she replied, if a bit hesitantly, "We were trained for this kind of stuff."

Something about the tone in her voice alerted Tom to the fact that it would not be wise to pursue the subject. For now. After all, his leg _was_ on the line. So he resigned himself to watching the girl as she managed to clear away the wound, which was still bleeding. She moved her hands directly onto his calf then and softly began to massage, humming quietly under her breath. Again, the hot, twisting pain from earlier flood through him again, and he had to bite his tongue from crying out but, surprisingly, the pain was diminishing. It was going away. Tom hoped to every deity out there that she wouldn't stop.

"I won't." She said, and Tom reflected lazily that perhaps, in his daze, he'd spoken out loud. The pain was going away, and that's all that really mattered in the end, anyway. He turned a lazy eye towards the calf that she was treating only to feel consciousness wash over his, piercingly.

She was using magic to heal it.

He could see it, the sinew slowly stitching itself back together and she sang, as quietly as she could, the healing charm under her breath, a cool, calming soothing chant, one of reassurance. The muscle was stitching itself back together and it was completely, utterly _surreal_. He could sense it, the magic weaving into every cell, encouraging it, reassuring it, _growing it_. His skin started to grow over the bleeding lump of flesh, covering it, and he could feel his arteries, veins and capillaries attach to his newly grown skin.

"Right, it looks like your finger's broken. I can reset it, if you'd let me." Wordlessly, and still in shock – _she was using _magic_!_ – he gave a stifled gasped as she pulled his finger into place, soothing the throbbing there with her strange magic again, cool as water. "Okay, you have a scratch on your head too, but it's only a flesh wound. I can bandage those up and pull out the splinters with tweezers or something, yeah?"

"I—yes."

She ripped the bloodied and torn part of his trousers and then it was finished. She looked at him, eyes clear, if not a bit tired. "It's finished. You'll have to lean on me for a bit; you don't want to strain the leg muscle just yet."

Tom could only nod stiffly, reeling from shock and she pulled him up, an arm around his waist as they limped back to the orphanage – because she'd used _magic_.

_._

_saturday, august 4th, 1941_

_7:37 AM_

.

She sipped the heavily diluted (read; disgusting) tea contemplating the empty seat in front of her carefully. Riddle had uncharacteristically gone to put their trays away, leaving Naomi to contemplate her new course of action. Her previous plan _would not work_; his suicide – forced or otherwise – was just not an option anymore. His reaction to her magic was—_unexpected_ to say the least, _but not a total loss,_ Naomi thought. The hairs on the back of her neck stood up, alerting her to the presences behind her. Straining her ears, Naomi managed to listen in;

"-we should warn her or something?" The whispered voice of pubescent girl asked another and received a derisive snort in reply.

"Isn't it obvious? She's all that's keeping _him_ away from the rest of us. The last thing we need is for her to back off from him now." A male voice hissed back, fear creeping into his voice.

"Didn't you hear her yesterday? She's _just like him_. They're both the same." The voice of Leon came, disgusted.

"Then, really, she _is_ th'only one 'oo's in 'is way. I 'eard from 'arriet that she's one of 'is teacher's kids or sumffin' so 'e can't really do nuffin' t'er, can'e?"

"But _you_ know, Millie, better than 'nyone that he's not just gonna hit ya. He's inta mind games and all sorts. I'd be _real _surprised if she didn' go mad or somethin'."

"So, basically, you'll sacrifice _her_, to save your own skin? I'm _not_ afraid of Riddle and I'm not a coward."

"Then, you're a fool, Angela. Riddle is _evil_ and I had hoped that you wouldn't underestimate him. Remember what happened to Dennis and Amy?" The names made Naomi frown, _where have I heard them before?_ – "Don't pick fights with him, Angie. If she hasn't realised the danger of being around that-that _freak_ by now, she never will." A deeper male voice said, nearly begging Angela. "But she'll buy us some time, Angie. Time is what we need."

"Time for what?" A little boy's voice came, timidly.

"Joe and Delilah got married, yeah? They got money now too – real rich kid, Delilah is. They'll spill the beans on Mrs. Cole soon and the orphanage'll close down or they'll sack her and get someone else. They'll come for us."

There was a contemplative silence then.

"And what happens, once she does something to offend Him? What happens to us then, Greg?" The fearful remark came from the first timid girl and the obvious capitalisation of 'him' not unlike the habits of Naomi's own acquaintances in the future in reference to the elder Riddle made her feel ill – _he's always been like this, there's no hope, no hope, no ho—_

"Then? Then we're doomed." Greg, the deep male voice form earlier, replied nonchalantly.

Riddle returned then, a smile plastered on his face and Naomi's eyes slid back into focus. He held an arm out for her in the typical pureblood fashion, palm faced upwards to receive her own. Naomi noticed the slight scuffling of the small group behind her dissipating and, for the first time, a shiver of apprehension rose up her spine. Giving him a brief smile in return before allowing him to lead her in such a way, the two left the food hall, Naomi's eyes dark in contemplation.

_._

_"Harry, you alright?" Hermione enquired, tilting her head so that her hair fell over her shoulders, her eyes gazing intently into his._

_"I-er-yeah...I just-Ron, you know-I..." Harry trailed, helplessly. Hermione squeezed his hand in response and gave a sympathetic smile._

_"I'm _here_ for you, Harry."_

I'm _always_ here for you, Harry.

_._

_"Welcome to Defence Against The Dark Arts. As you all know, I am Professor Blake. I only teach from the fourth year upwards whereas Professor Comason teachers what I call, the lower years. Please, don't bother sitting down or taking out books." Blake called out, walking into the Defence classroom with the others behind her, in single file, peering curiously around._

_The room had been redecorated since Umbridge's stint; there was a much more 'zen' feeling to it but still foreboding, like the fake Moody's had been - pictures of werewolves during the Change; a picture of Bellatrix Lestrange with her wild eyes and windswept hair casting the Killing Curse, face illuminated by the eerie green light; pentagrams; alchemists; Dark magicians; Light magicians; wand diagram; Wicca legends– her walls were filled with information, but not in such a way that it was overcrowded._

_There was a loud crash and the class abruptly turned around, to see what all the commotion was about. Blake was bodily shoving all the desks, row by row, to the other end of the room and the class could only watch in awe. _

_"Now, who would like to define Dark and Light magic for me?"_

_"Welcome to the Defence Club. I am, as many of you know, Professor Blake and this is Professor Snape." Blake said, sharp eyes scanning the room, students flinching away. Harry made a mental note that majority of the students were from the previous years' DADA but there were also a lot more Slytherins than he expected._

_Like Draco Malfoy, looking sickly pale and nervous._

Who thought he'd need Defence? You think he'd want to learn how to use the Dark not defend against it..._Harry mused._

_"I want to assure and dispel any rumours you may have about this club. This is not a _duelling_ club. We are not learning duelling etiquette. We're learning how to defend ourselves in battle – with Dark _or_ Light magicians – to survive by any means necessary. If you're here for duelling, I suggest you leave. Now." Snape continued, silkily, his own eyes piercing each student individually. A few left – a Slytherin, a small group of Gryffindors, two or three Hufflepuffs, but majority stayed. They knew exactly what they signed up for._

_"Defence...is complicated. When you are defending yourself, there are _no_ morals. You do and use and exploit anything and everything at hand to deliver the final blow to your opponent before they do so to you. That is what makes defence different from duelling. Duelling is a sport. Defence is a way of life. You will have to do more outside of these sessions than you have ever had to do in classes; exercise, incantations, practises. If you expect to live through this war, you can't duel. Your opponent _will_ kill you before you get the chance to even bow. Bellatrix Lestrange, Alastor Moody, Fenrir Greyback, Kingsley Shacklebolt...highly trained, highly skilled Defence masters that you may eventually have to face." Blake picked up the speech easily, folding her arms under her chest, head titled back defiantly before glancing at Snape._

_"Sometimes, when you face these masters, the goal is not to win but to _survive_. And that's what we're here to accomplish; your survival. In these sessions, there is no Slytherin, no Gryffindor, no Hufflepuff and no Ravenclaw. Because you have to be cunning, brave, hard-working and intelligent to survive." Snape finished, eyes dark and serious, showing the brevity of what he was saying._

_"So, we're all in, then?" Blake exclaimed ecstatically, clapping her hands together, eyes shining with anticipation. "Excellent."_

_"Let's begin."_

_._

_wednesday, august 16th, 1941_

_3:00 AM_

.

Tom's eyes flashed open, body tensing immediately, fists wound tight and ears straining to pick up the soft _almost_ inaudible noise that had come from outside his front door. Making sure that the noise hadn't repeated – most likely a mouse – he _froze completely_ as he came to a shattering conclusion.

The girl's room was across his room.

Cursing everyone from Ptolemy to the girl's mother, he rolled out of bed swiftly, pulling out his wand which he'd stuck along the ridges of the weathered door. Stepping out quietly, he scanned the empty corridor, illuminated by moonlight, the flimsy curtains floating in the hissing wind, the orphanage creaking and groaning in protest – eerily reminiscent of the first night he'd ever seen her, at Hogwarts less than a month ago.

Careful to soften his breathing he stepped slowly towards her room, arriving in a few minutes before softly turning the doorknob and pushing the door to her room open. His heart began to pulse frantically as he realised that _she wasn't there_.

_Where on earth are you, little girl?_

Rushing out of the room which was far too empty and bare, the suitcase shut tightly with a few articles of clothing hanging off the edges and her bed hastily but neatly made, Tom sprinted lightly down the stairs, adrenaline pumping through his veins.

_You stupid _child.

_._

_Breathe, child, breathe. There's no need to cry; all you know was never there. Time, time, time swirls all around you and you can see it all because it's who you are. You see a young boy with Remus' smile and a girl with redred hair and you know they're meant to be together – but they won't be and it's all going to be a heartacheacheache. You see the way almond, emerald eyes gaze at the (your) beautiful boy with the beaming face – but it's her wedding day and she shouldn't be looking at the best man like that. You see long blonde hair and snarky words and a man – you _know_ him, yes, you do but so much older, so much later, much too late – with red hair and all-too-knowing blue eyes and a kiss in time – but it doesn't happen because the Time-Turners were destroyed. You see jet black hair and warm brown eyes and an unspoken agreement as their hands wind around each other – but this doesn't happen because he found the stormy one and the rest is history. Cinnamon brown eyes close and tears slip out as you see her heartache; she wants to see green eyes in the morning, not blue – but this doesn't happen because they're dead._

_Dead. Dead. Dead._

_Because of _you.

Naomi woke up, gasping against the crushing of her lungs as oxygen rushed back in through them. Sitting up, she coughed violently, hand covering her mouth to stifle the noise. Removing her hand, she found blood spattering it. Narrowing her eyes, she reached under her pillow for her wand, running several simple diagnostic spells. _Nothing...Goddamn you, Fate. Why can't you just _tell _me things instead of pulling this shit?_

Deciding to go for a drink – _to remove the taste of death and longing but who would know?_ – before attempting to sleep again, Naomi slid out of her bed, warm feet padding along the floor with dull thuds. Glaring at her appendages, she snuck out the door and had almost passed Riddle's room—

—_Creeeeeeak—_

—_aw, crap._ Naomi thought, sprinting down the stairs lightly. As she made it into the small area that they called the Pantry which was full of stale breads and biscuits but fresh water, too. Grabbing a glass from the topmost shelf, Naomi poured herself a full glass and was about to sip when the hairs on the back of her neck stood up. Putting the glass back on the counter, she turned to face the intruder.

"Hello, Naomi."

.

Oh, but she was so, so_ stupid_. He had said that a thousand times over, gaining vehemence each time but _oh, _she was stupid. Stupid enough to try and fool him, stupid enough to assume no one else would be here and stupid enough to engage him in conversation.

And it's all Tom can do to watch.

(_Because, who would explain it all, when it ends?_)

.

Her lips quirked in a semblance of a smile as she spoke calmly. "Hello, Bailey."

"I have to admit I did not expect to see you wandering around tonight."

"I tend to exceed expectations." Naomi shot back.

"You've exceeded _my_ expectations, certainly." At her raised eyebrow, Leon continued. "You're still alive."

"Your unwavering faith in me is touching. But Tom Riddle can hardly hurt me." Naomi replied, smiling, fingers curling around her cup again.

"Yes, I'd forgotten you were birds of a feather. But even _you_ would be naive to think that you could put a dent in him, Naomi." At her indifferent shrug, Leon sighed. "If that's how you see things, far be it for me to try and save you. You don't seem to be the kind of girl who needs saving."

_No. No, I've bitten off more than I can chew, Leon. Save me._ But outwardly she just sniggered. "No, I suppose not. It's dangerous for you to be wandering around this late, Leon."

"Riddle's not coming out to play for a long time, little girl. He's cautious around you. We're hoping you'll come back next summer, too." Leon said, flippantly. Naomi turned around and met him face on then – and he didn't flinch under her gaze. Instead, "Can I kiss you?"

"You are merely a boy, Leon. You should stay away from me. I'm not the kind of girl you want to kiss." He raised an eyebrow at that, disbelievingly. She snarled, losing her temper. "Blood and war and _death_, Leon. Holding a little girl as her eyes open wide and her intestines flow out. Watching a man smash his head against a rock over and over and _over_ because he just can't take it anymore. And torture. So much pain and screaming and blood. I'm not the kind of girl you want to kiss."

Leon paled – but didn't back down. "I could hardly expect you not to have seen – or done – any of that, considering that there's a war going on."

She just _deflated_ and sighed shakily. He stepped forward, carefully, as though expecting her to attack him. "Just because you did and saw those things doesn't make you _evil_, Naomi."

Her head snapped up to his, green eyes alit with faint surprise. "Then, what about Riddle?"

"Riddle," Leon started, calmly. "is demon spawn. He's – he can't compare to you."

"_That_ is some severe bias, Leon." She pursed her lips, mockingly. "I'm leaving in a week. My uncle has sent me a – letter."

"It's not as if I won't ever see you again."

"You sound far too sure. You're also far too close."

"Oh, I hadn't noticed." He sneered slightly, rolling his eyes. Naomi cocked her head to the side, eyes calculating. Leon stepped forward again.

What happened next was a blur, really, Leon Bailey would think in retrospect. She'd somehow managed to twist his arm and bend him over the counter-top, his breath rushing out soundly. She'd growled in his ear...something that he'd keep to him until his dying days, brushed her lips against his cheek and then walked off, the glass of water she'd originally come for still full to the top.

_._

_Tom Riddle was so confused_.

.

And Naomi returned to Delia Summer's old room and sat on the rickety bed, her hands held in front of her, so young and flawless and _small_, eyes seeing something so far away and her mind rushed with thoughts of a black-red-brown trio, an old, _old_ man with twinkling cerulean orbs and the high-pitched laugh and scarlet, bloody gaze.

"_There is no good or evil. Only power and those too weak to seek it._"

It had truly begun.


	5. Chapter 4: Star

_**p**__erception_

**r**eal-placebo-effect

.

_**s**__tar_

_._

_take my hand__  
__it's because the two of us are fragile and imperfect_

_that we'll stay holding hands forever_

_starless night, i won't look back on the shadow of my past__  
__i want to feel your warmth__  
__tears falling down; even when i'm lost__  
__i won't let go of your hand_

**starless night;** Olivia

_._

_thursday, september 1st, 1941_

_9:00 AM_

.

Tom's foot tapped with nervous energy as he waited for the Express to take off towards Hogwarts, for another year. It _surprised_ him that he was already a fifth year. Soon, he would take his OWLs, then his NEWTs and then—and Tom didn't know what he would do after Hogwarts. He had _ideas, _of course, but they were far too sketchy. What _hadn't_ surprised him was the badge that arrived with his list of books – Tom was a Prefect this year.

The train hooted suddenly and Tom sighed watching carelessly and dispassionately the parents jogging to catch up with the train to wave at their children. _It's a wonder that they haven't been discovered by the rest of the world yet, considering how loud they can be_.

Tom had gotten distracted last year, he knew, due to the girl's arrival. But this year—this year, he _would_ find out exactly who his parents were. This year, he would find out _exactly who he was_.

No matter what the cost.

_._

_"Hello." She said, a smile gracing her face as he caught her wrist, her fingers absently tracing runes on his skin._

_"Hello." He grinned back, boyishly. She lifted his hand to her mouth and kissed it softly before rolling out of the comfortable warmth of the bed, slipping on the white shirt he'd had on last night. She buttoned up most of the buttons before sending him a mischievous look and running downstairs._

_The man groaned – this meant he'd have to leave the comfort of his bed as well, but got up anyways, sliding on a pair of black slacks; the other half of last night's attire. He walked downstairs lazily, not bothering to hurry or make a fuss. Just languid and easy steps, matching the atmosphere of the day so far, the first few soft sunlight rays pouring in, illuminating the household in a warm, fresh gold._

_By the time he'd reached the kitchen, the smell of eggs cooking reached him and he grinned wolfishly, walking up behind the slightly humming woman and pressing a gentle kiss to her nape. She tilted her head back and her lips curved in a relaxed smile._

_"Breakfast, yeah?" She asked and he made an assenting noise. He paused suddenly and that made her stiffen. There seemed to be an immediate change in the atmosphere and he let her go._

_"We...need to talk."_

_Sighing deeply, she switched off the stove and turned to face him. he looked ohso handsome, his dair hair falling over his ashen eyes. Pale skin contrasting with everything. The longest eyelashes she'd ever seen. A strong, angular jawline. He was beautiful, and he was hers._

But not for long_, the horrid, horrid voice in her head whispered maliciously._

_"I-I don't know how to...I just..." He tried to speak, but the words got all caught and mangled in his throat. He cleared it and tried again – because she _was_ worth it. Worth more. "I mean...we're at war. I know that, I do. But you – you're the best thing I have ever, ever had. Better than my OWL grades and Quidditch and running away. You're just – you. And I want you here, with me, for forever until the end of time."_

_He was gushing, he knew it, but all he could concentrate on was how fucking _beautiful_ she looked in his shirt, her lips split apart in surprise, green eyes almost molten gold in the early morning sunlight and how soft her hair looked._

_"Marry me, Naomi?"_

_"Oh – Merlin – I just...I – " Naomi stuttered, unable to answer. She could see him breaking in front of her and she couldn't-wouldn't-shouldn't stand for the little light in his darkdark eyes to go out like that. So, despite the tingle in her spine that screamed _NONONO_ and despite her heart which cried _NONONO_ and despite her very soul shrieking _NONONO_ Naomi said, with a happy laugh – _

_"Yes, Sirius Black. Yes, I will marry you."_

_._

_7:45 PM_

.

Getting off the train had been – this time around – been a relatively harmless process. Tom had a sneaking suspicion that it had something to do with his shiny new badge, but he couldn't be sure. Either way, Tom had sat in a carriage by himself, surrounded by what it seemed were third year Ravenclaws. _Better than the alternatives_, Tom mused.

Time seemed to evaporate as they approached Hogwarts, which was alit from the inside making the shadows that covered the walls appear even darker and inkier. The image of the castle looming above them so sent a shiver of apprehension down Tom's back and his fingers itched for his wand.

He resisted the urge as he stepped down from the carriage, hurrying to get inside before any of his _House mates_ could catch up to him. Tom walked into the Great Hall with a few of the students from years above him and chose a non-descript seat that was still in a good position to watch everything; near the front but close enough to the middle to not be caught off-guard.

Tom waited patiently while the Great Hall filled with students chattering amicably, studying them with slight disdain.

But, he was patient, nonetheless.

_._

_7:42 PM_

.

"—and that's there is to it, really." Dippet _finally_ finished, closing the manila file with a sound slap. A small wave of his hand and it was entered into an ambiguous-looking cabinet. Frowning suddenly, the Headmaster flipped out his pocket watch gasping at the time.

"Oh, dear me! We're going to be late! Late, late, late. Come along!" He ordered Naomi who sat there looking dumbfounded.

"But, sir, I haven't been Sorted –"

"Oh, yes. Well, we'll just have to sort you with the first years, then. Nothing else to be done, I'm afraid. Come along, or else we'll be terribly late!"

Left eye twitching slightly, Naomi followed the anally retentive Headmaster to the Great Hall.

_._

_7:46 PM_

.

"Well, it appears as though our esteemed Headmaster will be a bit late. No doubt caught up in paperwork. So, perhaps, I shall take over this year's speech." Dumbledore mused to the students who smiled warmly in return.

"Welcome all to Hogwarts; new faces and old faces. Before the Sorting, I would like to remind _all_ of you that nothing is dictated. Fate does _not rule_ unless you allow it to. So, let's begin!"

With those supposedly enigmatic words, the Sorting Hat was set on the stool and the rim opened up, the Hat readying itself for its' yearly song.

"_There is more than what appears,_

_Though you have to dig deep,_

_Don't fear, my child, the end is near,_

_But now's not the time to weep._

_Four Houses are disunited,_

_Suspicions high and low,_

_Now's not for the short-sighted,_

_Let your inhibitions go._

_The snakes aren't to be trusted,_

_Or that is what they say,_

_But trust me, you'll be busted,_

_Without their subtle way!_

_The lions are too brash,_

_That's just what they see,_

_But the world might just crash,_

_Without any nobility._

_The eagles are too smart,_

_That is why they contest,_

_But you'll wish to be a part,_

_When they are the very best._

_The beavers are too boring,_

_All of you complain,_

_But can any of you bring,_

_That effort to the game?_

_Open your mind and see,_

_Accept just who we are,_

_It matters not to me;_

_Your House is not a mar!_

_History is rewritten, and fates defied,_

_Friend and foe, out and in,_

_Be not afraid,_

_For now we begin."_

There was a nervous applause at the end of the Hat's song and Tom's mind was whirling. _What?_ But before he could contemplate any further, the first name was called out.

"Andes, Morgan!"

_The war? Is it talking about the war?_

"Ellen, Noah."

_Let your inhibitions go...that's pretty much permission for everyone to get sodding drunk, isn't it? Or—_

"Hawthorne, Diana."

—_to run free? Follow your heart's path. Sounds insufferably Gryffindor to me. _

"Lightdawn, Marina."

_Foes from within?_

"Nott, Joanna."

_Something is changing. But what?_

"Parkinson, Rowan."

—_What's changed this year? What's so – so _different_ this year?_

"Queen, Samantha."

_Change – this isn't good._

"Tanner, Olaf."

_Change is _never _good._

"Vienna, Deidre."

Scanning the Head table, Tom's grey eyes narrowed as he watched the teachers murmur in undertones to each other, some faces paler than others. This put him on guard – even Dumbledore had faint creases of worry around his eyes and brow.

"Wood, Olivia."

_Speaking of Dumbledores..._Tom scanned the Great Hall in detail, keeping an eye out for a cascade of black waves or a hint of bright green eyes but found nothing. _...Where is she? She _was_ planning on attending Hogwarts, was she not?_

"Yaxley, Damien."

"_SLYTHERIN!_"

"Zabini, Avis."

"_RAVENCLAW!_"

Sighing in slight annoyance – rather than the number of first years reducing due to war, they seemed to be _increasing_ more than anything – Tom leaned forwards, keen to catch whatever words Dumbledore would say next.

"And that, my dears, is the end of the first year Sorting! Now –" Before he could finish, a pair of doors near the back – the teacher's usual exit – opened and Dippet hurried in and onto the podium, thanking Dumbledore briefly.

"I'd like to – _pant_ – introduce everybody to – _pant_ – a lovely young – _sigh – _woman from – _pant_, _pant_ – the Bast and Isis Institution of Magical Exper – _gasp_ – tise." Dippet stopped there, gulping down the glass of water helpfully given by Dumbledore. He cleared his throat and continued, dream-eyes suddenly sharp. "I expect you all to treat her with the respect befitting of any Hogwarts student."

"Without any further ado, Deluna, Naomi!" Dippet exclaimed, the tone from earlier gone and replaced with a cheerful one. The Hall immediately burst into excited whispers and Tom strained his ears to catch the murmurs.

"—_Deluna!_ I can't believe –"

" – She's practically –"

"—No wonder Dippet –"

"—that's ridiculous, _she_ can't be –"

"—school's in Egypt, what's she doing h– "

The students were soon silenced as _she_ walked out, none other than Naomi Dumbledore – _no, Deluna._ She stepped out, face determined and stubborn. _Gryffindor_, he predicted. More whispers broke out across the Hall as the students took in the assorted bangles on her right wrist and the two rings on her left hand. Around her neck, there were at least three necklaces that he could see; a thin piece of dark brown material – most likely leather – with what seemed like runes tattooed onto it, a slightly longer thick black cord with a weird symbol he didn't recognise as a pendant and finally an extremely long chain with small golden ring on the end.

She held her head high as she walked up to the stool and sat on it, the Hat on her head, ready to be Sorted.

_._

_Naomi. It has been a while. And I have a feeling you know where I'm going to put you, so let's use this time productively, hmm?_

Hat, I've said this once already, but allow me to say it again. You're a bastard, really.

_You're talking to a _Hat_. Who's the freak now? …Naomi, Fate lied._

I—wait, what do you mean? If you say that there really is no possibly way to stop To-er, Voldemort, then I _will _burn you.

_Listen to me, you stupid child. I am Timeless. I am Sorting you now, I am Sorting you in your past and I am saying this to a past you as well. Time does not affect me. I know who you are. And let me tell you now, Fate is lying. Or at least, your interpretation of what he said is wrong._

Meaning what exactly?

_Child, we don't have much time and that's all Destiny has permitted me to say. Remember, Serafina is alive in this realm. Do not challenge her too much. Tom Riddle, you can help him. You don't need to destro—oh, wait. You've come to that realisation already. My, my, who'd have thought the Darkest wizard of all time would be your B—_

Yeah, yeah, I get it. Hat, what did you say to Riddle when he was Sorted?

_Oh, so it's Riddle now is it? Okay, okay, stop thinking about burning things, would you? Thank you. He wanted to be in Ravenclaw. I was wavering between Gryffindor and Slytherin._

_What_? How could you even _consider_—

_That's not for you to know, idiot. Not yet, anyway. You will see, soon enough. Now, listen, I will be here, if you have no other option. My Legillimency is unparalleled and I can help in any way you need. Good. So, we agree, I'm sending you to Hufflepuff?_

No! You prat! I need to be in _Ravenclaw_. Where else am I going to gather information to stop him from becoming, well, You-Know-Who?

_In Hufflepuff, obviously. Listen, I know you and I know best. So shut up and go to Helga's already!_

No, I refuse. I _need _to be in Ravenclaw, you shoe. What in the name of Salazar's left toenail am I going to do in _Hufflepuff_?

Naomi, calm down_. I know what I'm doing. You're going to need to be in Hufflepuff. Ravenclaw and Slytherin have such Dark connotations and it's the last thing you need, no matter how Slytherin you are in reality. You need to appear as a Light witch, you can't let anyone ever know. Appearances are a must if you want to succeed. Hufflepuff are going to be your support. Now –_

No, wait, Hat–

.

"_HUFFLEPUFF!"_ The Hat roared deafeningly. Standing up, the girl's face darkened as she slammed the Hat down onto the stool, stalking furiously off to the table. A few of the first years screamed as the Hat began to smoke and a small purple flame lit it up.

"_Aguamenti!_" Dumbledore cast quickly, drenching the Hat who seemed to splutter. Tom noticed the Hufflepuffs were looking a bit wary of their new addition. He couldn't blame them. The whole Hall seemed to be.

"W-well, then…welcome back and have a great feast!" Dippet announced quickly, eager to leave the students to their own devices. The food appeared and Tom took a good helping of everything he could see, but kept a close eye on Du–Deluna who seemed more at odds with her House than her House was with her.

.

Just as I'd taken the first sip of my pumpkin juice, a tentative tap came on my shoulder. I turned to see someone incredibly familiar. _Amelia...?_

"Hey, Naomi. I'm Ella Bones. We're gonna be sharing dorms. How 'bout you come sit with us? I'd love to introduce you to some people." Ella said. She had full lips, dark eyes and dark brown hair and she seemed friendly enough, I suppose. I nodded, smiling at her as O rose from my seat, following her further along to where I presumed her friends sat.

"—and my mum was _so_ shocked, I swear. Merlin, I was just relieved she hadn't walked in a few minutes earlier. Geddit? Relieved?" A light brown-haired male chuckled to the group he was whispering to— _CONSTANT VIGILANCE and sharp, sharp eyes; all-seeing and all-knowing and—_

"Ignore this idiot. He _is_ Alastor Moody, after all." Ella informed me jokingly, poking her thumb in his direction. Moody – _falling, falling, falling from the sky and landing in a thudding lump and_ – grinned at Ella before saluting towards me. At his movements, the other members of the group turned around as well, looking towards Ella almost enquiringly.

"Guys this is, obviously, Naomi Deluna. This is Callum Diggory –" She gestured to a honey blonde that looked vaguely like Amos, in my opinion, that_ twat_. " – and this is Melissa Edgecombe –" a swift nod in her direction and the girl beamed towards Ella and I.

"—Nadirah Shacklebolt – " A stunning, dark skinned, grey eyed girl (who looked _nothing_ like Kingsley, mind) inclined her head to me. "—Linus Jones, pervert of our year –" a Metamorphamagi by the looks of it as he changed his hair to a neon purple and grinned at me.

"—Damien McKinnon, stoic extraordinaire –" _McKinnon_...he would be a powerful wizard, I knew, as his dark eyes swept over me carelessly. "—and Angelica Smith." A redhead with Zacharias' eyes, I noted, but there was an air of serenity. I immediately took a liking to her.

"Pleased to meet all of you. You're all fifth years, right?" I asked, keeping a tone of friendliness in my voice.

"Yes, we are. Well, except for Alastor. He's a fourth year." Alastor scowled at Nadirah's slightly derisive tone, although he couldn't maintain it for long after he saw the slight sparkle in her eye.

"Oh, shush, Nads. You _know_ I'm smarter than you are."

"Says the boy who took about twenty minutes to get Sorted. I bet you nearly wet yourself, thinking you were a Squib."

"Yeah, well, you were going to be a Gryffindork, weren't –"

"We're pleased to have you with us, Naomi." Damien's low voice cut through the petty argument smoothly and the others retreated into silence, shocked no doubt by the fact that he spoke – and to a stranger, as well.

"It's good to be here, Damien." A small smile touched his lips before the inane chatter continued around me and I sunk into Hufflepuff House, hoping I could maintain anonymity.

.

"Riddle! Riddle! _Tom!_" Tom turned just in time for Naomi to run into him, her arms around his neck. _Embracing_ him. Tom's eyebrows rose in surprise as she pulled back, a slight flush on her face from sprinting, and the group of Hufflepuffs she'd spent the Feast with were trailing behind her. "How are you? How was the rest of your summer? Dreadfully boring without me, I know. Could we catch up sometime? I have _so_ much to tell you and I have this really awesome new –"

"Naomi," Abraxas Malfoy's voice exclaimed and Naomi stiffened before turning to face him with a polite smile on her face. "Or do you prefer _seithr-kona_?"

"Hardly, Lord Malfoy."

Abraxas raised an eyebrow at that but continued to smile disarmingly. "Call me Abraxas; Lord Malfoy is my father. I would like to introduce you to Slytherin House."

"The rest of, you mean?" Naomi asked, sharply, still not relinquishing her hold on Tom's wrist. "I am hoping this won't take long? I should like to be settled in my dormitory by curfew."

Abraxas let out a laugh but his eyes were sharp and derisive, focused on Tom. "It won't take too long, my Lady."

He gestured toward the group of Slytherins and Naomi smiled back, forcing Tom to follow by tugging on his wrist. Abraxas's eyes flickered towards him for a moment in contemplation, but he was mercifully silent.

"These are the Black siblings; Alphard, Cygnus and Orion." Each respective brother shook the hand that was proffered to them, placing gentle kisses on her inner wrist.

"Deivid Rowle, Eileen Prince –" She exchanged a kiss on the cheek with Eileen.

"—Marianne Bulstrode, Adrian Goyle, Druella Rosier, Armand Nott –" The following males placed kisses on her outer wrist.

"Aksel Mulciber, Sevastien Dolohov, Serena Selwyn and Cherilyn Carrow –" The two females, both in the year below, merely curtsied to Naomi who inclined her head towards them. "—and Juniper Parkinson."

"We welcome you to Hogwarts, Lady Deluna, and hope your time here is pleasurable." Juniper stated, bowing low. Naomi flushed.

"There is no need for such formality. I am not going to be Head of the family for a very, very long time. Besides, we're all students!" She gave a nervous laugh here, her anxious gaze flickering towards the small crowd that had gathered around them. Cygnus laughed back softly.

"Indeed, Miss Deluna." He paused as Abraxas breathed in sharply but quietly. When it became apparent that Naomi wasn't going to hex him for dropping the _Lady_, he continued. "We merely felt it suitable. We would not want you to think that we are uncouth and animal-like."

Naomi kept smiling but her eyes turned frosty, the same way they had when she'd confronted Leon during the summer. "I am sure, Black. It was a – pleasure to meet you all and I hope to talk to you soon. Goodnight."

With that, she turned away from the Slytherins but paused and faced Tom. She smiled warmly at him. "Goodnight, Riddle. It seems we have to talk some other time."

_Stupid girl. _Tom knew exactly what she was doing. Naomi had some kind of political power and was exerting it – on _him_.


	6. Chapter 5: Weary Of Days And Hours

_**p**__erception_

**r**eal-placebo-effect

.

_**w**__eary __**o**__f __**d**__ays __**a**__nd __**h**__ours_

_._

_i am weary of days and hours,_

_blown buds of barren flowers,_

_desires and dreams and powers,_

_and everything but sleep._

**the garden of proserpine;** algernon charles swineburne

_._

_friday, september 2nd, 1941_

_7:24 AM_

.

"Ridiculous," Naomi muttered under her breath, "Pretty bloody sure Dumbledore isn't meant to be literal."

Her fingers fumbled with her tie, striped yellow and black like bees, biting back her disappointment at not waking up to familiar gold and red, or green and silver. Burning the Hat was a mistake, an uncontrollable burst of magic as her iron grip over it slipped in face of the Hat's final, deafening proclamation.

Naomi brushed her dry palm on her robes, the black buttons so different to the silver buttons of her own time, and checked her reflection one more time before turning to see Ella Bones leaning casually against the doorway, waiting for her.

"You look good in yellow." Naomi nodded, smiling tightly, and followed the Hufflepuff to the Common Room where Nadirah and Angelica were sitting engaged in conversation. "Hey, guys!"

"Good morning, Ella." Nadirah said, cordially turning to face them. Naomi noticed that Nadirah had on a Prefect's badge – just as Kingsley one day would become the fairest Prefect. _Who was she to him? His grandmother? His mother?_

"The boys have gone to breakfast eating already, yeah?"

Nadirah sneered slightly. "Obviously. Pigs, the lot of them."

"Alastor's fault, I'll bet." Ella shook her head slightly in exasperation. "Let's get to the Hall, yeah? Hopefully, there's still some food on the table."

Naomi followed them out of the Common Room listening with only half an ear to their excited chatter to her about Hogwarts.

.

"Professor Burbage's giving out timetables. Ugh, look alive, young ones." Alastor mock-whispered to his friends, receiving a glare from Burbage in reply. Nadirah rolled her eyes.

"Considering we're all a year above you now, Alastor, I'd shut my mouth. Thanks, sir." Angelica smiled at the Hufflepuff Head who beamed back. Alastor scowled.

"Way to _not_ rub things in my face, Angel."

"Don't call me that."

Naomi rolled her eyes at their antics – it seemed that _this_ time's Alastor Moody was a lot more talkative – and scanned her timetable, nodding in satisfaction. She knew exactly where all the classrooms were so there shouldn't be a pr—

"I think," Damien started. "That one of us should, perhaps, show Naomi around? She doesn't know her way as well as we do."

"Damien's right." Nadirah nodded, frowning a bit. "What's your first lesson?"

Alastor peeked over her shoulder and gave Naomi a disgusted look. "_Arithmancy_."

"What's wrong with Arithmancy, Alastor?" Damien put in smoothly and the younger boy paled slightly, stammering about all the many virtues of the subject – quite an impressive feat, considering that the Alastor Moody she'd known knew about as much about Arithmancy as Lucius Malfoy did about stem cell research.

.

"_Should I take it off?" James Potter taunted, playing up to the crowd that had gathered with a cruel eye trained on Severus Snape, who was dangling by his ankle in the air, paling considerably._

"_TAKE IT OFF! TAKE IT OFF! TAKE IT OFF! TAKE IT OFF! TAKE—OOOOH!" The crowd collectively yelled as two things happened; Snape was dropped to the ground in a big, thudding lump and Potter's nose made an audible crack as a fist flew into it. Black's eyes widened with horror._

"_James—"_

"_You crazy bint! What the hell is wrong with you?" Potter yelled, though muffled as he tried his best to stem the blood flow. The girl in front of him looked absolutely livid, her face an ugly shade of red and eyes flashing._

"_I am so _sick _of all of you!" Turning towards Black, who stood there, frozen, she shrieked, "_Furnunculus!_"_

"Protego!_ Blake, _stop_ or I'll be forced to put you in a dete—"_

_Lupin didn't get a chance to finish as Blake cast her next spell – "_Densaugeo!_" – which hit him perfectly and muffled his voice as his teeth grew rapidly. "Put me in detention? That would involve you actually taking action, Lupin! We all know how much you _loathe_ taking responsibility!"_

_Potter made a noise of protest and flourished his wand in retaliation, "_Everte statum!_"_

"Protego! _Are you kidding me, Potter? Seriously_? Pulsus!_" Potter flew backwards, as a large ball of energy pushed him and she turned to Lupin and Pettigrew who both paled. Pettigrew attempted retaliation,_

"Steleu_—"_

"Declino,_ the Sneezing Charm, Pettigrew? Pathetic. Let's see some real magic, hmm_? BOMBARDA MAXIMA!_" The ground near Pettigrew's feet exploded and he scuttled backwards, crying in alarm as did the other students. "You're all pathetic, Marauders – looters, more like. You're all pathetic and disgusting and a shame to Gryffindor House and always have been. Four on one; is that the only way you can pretend to have any kind of outstanding talent? By being bullies? The minute anyone tries to make you get the fuck _away_ you all use Dark Lord tactics and gang up on us – I am so _sick_ so people like you, Lupin, and your little friends – thinking you're all so – so superior just because of your – blood and your looks and – and your money. You don't control being poor or having horrid underwear or being smarter than someone else. We'll see how much you like being out-matched, you pathetic piece of– _Protego!_"_

"_Shut up! SHUT UP! You don't know anything about us! He's a lying, snivelling – little – SNEAK! " Black was vicious and mad, sending hex after hex after the equally enraged teenage girl who blocked them and sent a few of her own nasty curses back._

"_Why? Because he's a Slytherin? Because he's poor or a half-blood or he's been friends with Evans longer than you have? __You should've been a Slytherin, you slimy git! You're a disappointment to your House! You're a coward! You're all nothing but cowards! _Confring_—" By some _miracle_, McGonagall rushed in, horrified and quickly cast a spell that encased both the Marauders and Blake in separate bubbles._

"_What is the meaning of this?"_

"_Why don't you ask them, _Professor_, why they were using Class C spells on another peer? Why don't you ask them WHY THEY ARE ALLOWED TO SEND HEXES AND CURSES AT WHOMEVER THEY LIKE IN THE CORRIDORS JUST BECAUSE OF HOUSE AFFI—"_

"_SHUT YOUR MOUTH!" Black roared, "WHO THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU ARE? HE'S A SLYTHERIN! WHERE'S YOUR HOUSE PRIDE?"_

"_Where is your dignity? Your decency? Gryffindor is rolling in his grave, you coward!" Blake yelled back, dark purple sparks flying from the end of her wand, her hair almost sticking up with static. "You're all _pathetic!_"_

"_Silence!" Albus Dumbledore had arrived, his sky blue eyes uncommonly hard and angry as they fell on Blake. But she, rather than duck her head in embarrassment, glared back wilfully. "_Ennervate._"_

_Severus Snape groaned and another _Ennervate _allowed James Potter to stir back to life. Dumbledore gazed at all of them. "Miss Blake, I would like you to come and talk to me in my office."_

"_I'm sure you would." She retorted, her fresh green eyes still manically glinting. Then she added on snidely, as an afterthought, "Sir."_

_Dumbledore shot her a warning look and put a hand on her shoulder, steering her away from the scene whilst she held herself stiffly, "Boys, a trip to Madam Pomfrey would not do you any more harm, I should think."_

_Blake stopped moving and turned to the Marauders, the ugly red colour still high in her cheeks and glared at them, most especially Potter and Black. "By the way, Potter, remember this. Snape may be greasy or oily or whatever else it is you call him –" Here, Snape flushed hideously, but she took no notice, "— but everyone can see exactly how pathetic you are, you attention whore, and everyone can see Black's arrogance and bigotry, Pettigrew's cowardice. The only one of you who is remotely attractive might be Lupin if it were not for the streak of unusual cowardice and his freakish eyes."_

_Needless to say, Severus Snape had no clue what was going on, but anyone who told off the Marauders like _that_ was – in his opinion – second to none._

_._

_11:28 AM_

.

"Any particular reason you seem so intent on stalking me even during school, Deluna?" Riddle enquired of the witch who had fallen into step with him as they both headed towards Charms. He couldn't help but notice the strange pendant she was wearing as it reflected the early morning sunlight into his line of vision.

Deluna rolled her eyes and shot back, "Well, if you'd applied your reputable intelligence and actually comprehended the timetable you were given, you might have noticed that Slytherin and Hufflepuff share Defence together."

"Yes," Riddle mused, his lips taking on a wry twist, "I expected Gryffindor, to be honest. Hufflepuff was a surprising House."

"No one was more surprised than me, Riddle, I can promise you that." She flicked a wayward strand of hair behind her ear, scowling slightly before sighing, "But what's done is done, I suppose."

"There was a certain lack of that attitude yesterday," He countered, smirking, "As I'm sure the Sorting Hat would agree."

"The Hat has an awful habit of brown-nosing and doesn't seem to know what's good for it." She, surprisingly, smirked as well and her eyes twinkled with mirth and, though it was something that he would find utterly irritating, he couldn't help but give her an amused look.

"Of course." Riddle was very careful to keep a nonchalant eye on her as he threw out his next comment, "Well, Malfoy and Black seem to—_admire _you."

Deluna's face was expressionless as she replied seemingly carelessly, shrugging slightly, "I don't care much for blood politics, Riddle. But, they seemed friendly enough, I suppose. For a bunch of up and coming Dark Lords."

"Of course," Riddle bit out, then – tightly spoke the rest of his sentence, "I wouldn't expect anything more than for them to cater to your amusement, _my Lady_."

With that, he hurried his pace and left the bewildered girl in the corridor, wondering what the _hell_ his problem was.

_._

_4:05 PM_

.

"Tiring day, huh?" Moody – I should probably call him Alastor if only to distinguish him from the—_eye, electric blue, madly rolling in a socket, snarling at us, constant vigilance, he says, roars, stomping his wooden leg, arm raised to cast a crucio, screaming, eye rolling across the floor, basilisk fang pocket knife embedded in his–_from the Moody of my day – asked me, softly.

"Yeah, you bet. The castle is..." I trailed off, not even having to pretend to pour awe into my voice. My last few months being within my own time had been...it really _was_ like seeing the castle for the first time. And, of course, I'd made a few _interesting _discoveries of my own that were bound to be useful in my one-woman crusade against the future Dark Lord.

—Tom Riddle. I can't stop thinking about his damned _attitude_ today! I mean, yes, we're teenagers. We're hormonal. But I was actually being perfectly civil and _attempting_ conversation, that foul, evil, snot-nosed little son of a—

"Huge?" Moo—Alastor provided, giving me a small grin. I grinned back.

"I was about to say _magical_, but, ah, I suppose huge fits it correctly as well." Alastor made a noise of dissent at that and I raised an eyebrow.

"Do you always have to speak so—so..."

"Eloquently?" I provided, quirking my lips.

"I was about to say _snobbishly_, but, ah, I suppose eloquently fits it correctly as well." Alastor mocked me, in a ridiculously high voice. He grinned, ruffling his hair a bit.

"It's the way I was brought up, I guess," At his look, I realised that he didn't think I'd finished my sentence yet, so I elucidated, "Pureblood, and all that."

"_Ah._"

"But, I mean, it shouldn't have been so tiresome. The day, I mean. It was all just admin work, really. Sorting out the syllabus and textbooks and all that." I commented, brushing the irritating lock of hair that had escaped my make-shift bun behind my ear. Alastor eyed the quills I'd used to pin my hair back.

"Never seen anyone use quills like that."

"Yes, I tend to be special and unique, as well as eloquent." I replied, dryly.

"How could you not be – you're Dumbles' niece!" He exclaimed and I rolled my eyes a bit. "_And_ you're a Deluna. No wonder you have every Slytherin tripping over themselves to please you."

"What?" I asked, a bit more sharply than I meant to. Alastor shrugged it off though, and helped himself to another scoop of mashed potatoes.

"Well, I mean, look at Malfoy and Black yesterday, going up to you and bowing and all that rubbish," Alastor remarked, crinkling his nose a bit. He added, as an afterthought, "Smarmy bastards."

"That's all common courtesy; it's got nothing to do with _me_." I replied, a bit confused.

"Maybe," Alastor conceded, quietly.

"And what of Tom Riddle?" Bones had told me how quiet McKinnon usually was, but he _honestly_ didn't seem all that quiet to me.

"What about Riddle?"

"You seem close to him," Shacklebolt's joined in the interrogation as well. Okay, maintain a straight face, Naomi. I reached for my pumpkin juice, suddenly wishing that I had some Lightningvodka with me instead. I told them that I'd stayed with him during the summer.

"Well, _why?_"

I shrugged. "My Uncle asked me to."

"Why didn't you just stay with the Professor, then?"

"There were some difficulties."

"Like?" Edgecombe's consistent prodding was really _not_ earning her brownie points.

"Maybe you should ask _him_." I nearly sneered, but managed to restrain myself in time – we badgers don't sneer, after all; sugar not spice, we're everything nice.

"Why did he not leave you with a pureblood family, then?" Oh, Merlin, I hoped that she wasn't a fanatic. But – knowing my brand of luck – I had a suspicion that she was. The others didn't seem one bit surprised, so I assumed it was normal. I just told her that Albus didn't want my presence announced at the time and they, thankfully, dropped the subject.

Just as I scanned the Hall, I accidentally caught Riddle's gaze. He just—stared. Unlike his awkward staring on the train last time, this was far more contemplative, a question burning behind his gaze. Then, he blinked slowly and a smirk curved his lips, an echo of emotion, as Riddle inclined his head to me and sipped from his goblet – a mock salute.

I turned away.

_._

_6:13 PM_

.

"You don't seem to be very impressed with the new addition to our school, Orion."

Orion stopped pacing and scowled at the reclining, smirking Malfoy scion. "Of course not. She's a _Hufflepuff_. We should've gotten her, Abraxas, and you know it."

Malfoy made a noise of dissent and leaned forward abruptly. "Yes, she's a Hufflepuff but—it's not a total loss."

"I can see where you're going with this, Abe, but I don't think it's the best idea," Malfoy raised a pale eyebrow and Alphard continued. "We can't—can't _bully_ her into anything, you must know that. For the love of Salazar, did you _see_ what she did to the Hat?"

"Mere accident," Malfoy waved carelessly. "It means nothing; accidental magic, she lost control of her emotions and—"

Cygnus shook his head slowly. "Abraxas, I don't think so. It was deliberate."

"I can't think she's bloody well _pleased_ to be with that lot, can I?" Orion sneered.

"Either way, your next course of action will be to keep an eye on her," Prince added and the boys fell silent. "Deliberate or not, I'm sure the Hat's _supposed_ to be _highly _protected; for her to set it on _fire..."_

She paused, letting the other contemplate the ramifications of that. "She's dangerous. We treat her as the enemy. Close surveillance and observation. No more but –" here, she glanced at the scowling Malfoy, "—certainly no less, either."

"Are you _mad_, Eileen?" Orion hissed. "She's _Deluna_. We treat her like an enemy and then it's _our_ families who make us pay for insubordination. Don't take out your petty jealousy on us, _Prince._"

"Jealousy?" Prince repeated, incredulously, her dark red hair framing her angular face like a bloody halo. "What on earth do I have to be jealous _of_, Orion? She's Deluna, yes, but she's _Hufflepuff_ and a Hufflepuff is of little use to anyone. House full of blood-traitors and mudbloods. I have no wish to be Naomi Deluna. I suggest you watch your mouth before you spout such nonsense, Orion, or I'll just remove it myself."

"You know," Malfoy started, quietly – dangerously. "At times like these, I forget why we follow your wishes, Eileen. Our blood—"

"—Your _blood_," She spat, dark grey eyes flashing with anger. "Is nothing without the Princes backing up your line and—"

"—_Nothing?_ The method which you greeted the Lady last night dares to differ." Cygnus shot back and Prince flushed angrily at the reminder of her _official_ blood status.

"Fine," She said, silkily. "If following your own heads is what you wish, so _be_ it."

As she made her way out of the Common Room, she bumped heavily into Malfoy and gave him a smirk. "_Oops_. My most sincere apologies, Abraxas. I hope you're alright. You know how—clumsy I am. I always tend to..._slip_ around you."

Malfoy paled.

It was well known that although Eileen Prince was _not_ a genius, she was good at using what she already had and what she was already capable of to her own ends. And what she was good at was _Dark_ magic – most especially, Dark _Potions_.

So yes, having Prince _slip_ around you was never the best course of action.

"Ellie," Marianne Bulstrode started, trying to calm Prince down. "They're _boys_, so they're idiots. Don't listen to 'em. We could all really use your help."

Prince threw her hands up in exasperation, "She's just another _girl!_ Contrary to popular belief, we're not all that difficult to figure out."

Suddenly, Alphard's head shot up and he snapped his fingers.

"What?" Prince asked suspiciously. Alphard merely smirked and shook his head.

"Children, children," They all scowled and glared at him but he continued cheerily. "The answer to all our problems has been right in front of our noses this whole time."

"If you'd be so kind as to _share_ your epiphany, Alphard, then we could all glorify in your apparent genius." Malfoy drawled, leaning back in the armchair.

"Well, she's just that. She's a _she_."

"...Okay..."

"Look, Orion, it's _really_ simple. She's _female_. And, like Ellie said, they're not all that hard to figure out, right?"

"Alphard, get to the point." Prince snapped as Bulstrode sniggered, apparently having caught onto the eccentric Black's idea.

"Alright, alright," He threw his hands up in surrender before smirking. "She's a girl, and we're all perfectly respectable, good-looking, charming, intelligent and _pure_ males. Eh, eh?"

Malfoy glared at Alphard until he stopped his ridiculous eyebrow waggling.

He continued, seriously and with brevity, "So, we present ourselves as the most powerful and eligible options in the whole school. _Think_ of it; one of us, one of Slytherin House, owning their own Deluna."

Black ran a hand through his hair, his own patented Black smirk in place. "Cousin, that may be the best idea you've had yet."

"It could be fun." Cygnus grinned.

"For you, perhaps." Prince said, almost pouting. "What about me?"

"You could seduce Deluna, if she turns out to swing the other way."

"...Shut up, Alphard."

"Aha! You considered it!"

"_Shut up, Alphard._" The Slytherins hissed in tandem as the Black heir pouted.

_._

_Crunchcrunchcrunch – autumn leaves crinkle – and snap, faster – faster yet towards the dull, corrugated – iron doors, screeching – s c r e e c h i ng – open wide, wide – wider and another step, step, step – dull as the weathered white. no light –_ lux aeterna_,_ lumos, lumos maximus –_ nothing but dark engulfing and a single – bulb swinging back and forth and back – and forth, water dripping, dropping, drip, drop, drip, dr—and then silence, silence stretching across all of time and space – and a woman burning, burning shrivelling and – bittersweet ashes floating and – a man screaming forces unseen tearing him, tearing him apart – and sewing him back together and then – then – pulling him apart again like a toy soldier –_ dulce et decorum est...pro patria mori...— _and a graceful back arching, arching up – up further – towards a light, caving as green struck – in front – once, like an embrace or a goodbye – kiss and disappears – in a shower of glittering – light –dark again. Beauty, oh such beauty, run run run into the light, pour it into all the pores and into the smile and look up, up, up further yet, feathers brushing the air, fly, fly free from death and we fly faster yet, speedier than before air beneath –_

And she woke up gasping, cast a _Tempus_ charm which told her it was 3:10 a.m. and groaned, flopping back down on the pillow. The only thought running through her mind, the only thought that _could_ run through her mind was a simple, matter-of-fact and tired one.

_Finally._


	7. UPDATE

Hey guys! Thanks for all your support with this story – your response has been incredible. I just wanted you guys to know that there _are_ updates on the way. I've just been revamping and rewriting the chapters I've written already.

I'll post those up asap. Thanks again for all of your support.

- S


End file.
